


My Brother's Lass

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Love Triangle, Sibling Rivalry, William survives smallpox, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7815004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if William Fraser had survived and Jamie Fraser had to compete with his own brother for Claire's affections?<br/>[Born from a Tumblr prompt]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Brother's Lass

**_Part One - My Brother’s Lass_ **

When I was sixteen years old - about to leave my home to go live for a time at Castle Leoch, in order to learn the ways of a great Clan with the MacKenzie - I asked my father how I would ken which was the right woman for me. The thought had come to me for the first time during the time I had spent fostering with Dougal MacKenzie; the first time my balls ached thinking of a lass – and had been caught by my vigilant and violent uncle in the process.

We had been standing in the barn, gathering fresh hay to feed the beasts, the Scottish sun gracing us with one of those rare true summer days. My father had stopped, cleaned the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and smiled to me. It was like he was seeing me for the first time, a man finally made, right next to the fence where he had trashed me not six months past. “When the time comes, you’ll have no doubt lad.” He said. His eyes drifted from me and the wrinkles around his eyes softened – I knew he was seeing my mother, the fierce and lovely Ellen MacKenzie. The love of Brian _Dubh’s_ life.

Those words stayed with me the next few years, and more so than ever when I was enthralled with the ladies of the French Court. Even when I was fighting a foolish duel for the honour of courting Annalise de Marillac, there was this persistent voice in the back of my mind. _“Ye have doubts, don’t ye?”_ The voice said. _“She is not the one.”_

And not surprisingly the voice was right. I lost the duel – and Annalise’s delicate hand, seductive smile and entire body to boot – but while my ego was sorely damaged, and my male anatomy proceeded to have a mind of its own about my losses, my heart came out of it unscathed. I felt none of that brokenness poets wrote so extensively about; no little death in some private place inside me. I was sad but thoroughly alive and certain of my continued survival.

In Paris I learnt that ye dinna have to love a lass to want to bed her; mind and cock are not always in conformity. But once again I had my Da’s wisdom to guide me when I struggled – I wished to be more than a reckless farmer, sowing my seed in a soil that was not mine to plunder. I couldn’t yet envision a woman with a child of my own blood in her bosom.

I was finally heading home again, not only to Lallybroch but to the simplicity and earthiness of Scotland. After a year spent immersed in the complexities and frivolousness of the _Université_ I longed for Mrs. Crook’s bannocks in the morning, quiet nights by the stoned hearth and the silence of the moors.

In spite of the letters I often received, I missed my family – Jenny, Da and Ian. And above all, my elder brother, Willie.

Willie was older and wiser (or so _he_ insisted to say); I worshiped at his boots when we were wee lads. I used to think him the fastest; the brightest; the more skilled of all. When we both achieved manhood that enchantment faded a bit, for I saw him for the flawed but fundamentally good man he had become – and found a new camaraderie between us, less of constant adulation and more of a friendship thicker than blood. He was my best friend, _mo brathair_.

Jenny used to say we looked verra much alike, yet not quite the same – both with the red hair of the MacKenzie’s and the slanted blue eyes, but I had inherited the astonishing height and by my thirteenth birthday I towered over him. She said we were like two droplets from the same pond – the same water, only shaped differently.

Another noteworthy difference was that Willie carried some marks of the smallpox that almost killed him as a child, mainly on his left cheek where they aligned like constellations in the dark sky. They had made him self-conscious in a way and he became easily annoyed when he thought folks were staring at them. But it was the common opinion amongst the lasses in _Broch Mordha_ that the scars only contributed to lend him a certain charm, a reminder of strength and survival, like a talisman that could spread good fortune to those around him. And when he smiled he warmed a woman’s backbone, his flaws turned invisible.

I remember the letter I had received from him just a few days before leaving Paris.

_“Jamie,_

_I am not sure this letter will find you still in France but I write you in the simple hope that it will. Jenny demands that I tell you not to forget the books she commissioned from you in her last letter, “or else”. You will find our dear sister just as violent in her nature as the last time you saw her – and every bit as delightful and caring. Da asks that you bring a small casket of Jared’s best claret, “please and thank ye”._

_But what keeps me awake tonight to write to you is something else entirely. I met a lass, mo brathair – a fine lass. She came wandering into our lands and stayed to heal people. She is bonny (you’ll see for yourself, but even Jenny says it is so) and I find her most intriguing. She speaks her mind with directness and her knowledge of the herbs fascinates me. There is joy in her; yet a sad strangeness that places her out of reach. I find myself thinking of her night and day. I feel feverish in a moment and chilled right after; yet it is not sickness that consumes me, but the thought of her. I shall ask her permission to court her, as she has no family to speak of, and hope ardently that you approve of our match and the happiness I find in her._

_Jenny, Da and Ian send their love. I do no such thing – but I’ll admit that I miss you something fierce, a balaich._

_See you home,_

_William.”_

My brother was right. She was beautiful and unique; her spirit threw me out of course like a fast river scattered on the rocks. I knew nothing of her when I saw her first and yet it hadn’t mattered.

My mind, heart and body came together against the force of her hands. She had the power to crush me and yet I knew she wouldn’t. I wanted her; craved her; relished in her existence.

She was the one. The right one. Nothing could have prepared me to the sudden feeling of utter vulnerability and amazing strength her presence offered me. I was capable of everything and could never lose because she existed; I had everything to lose because she existed. She _was_ – and that filled me with endless wonder.

I had found her – or rather, _she_ found _me_. The only problem is, that this woman I was meant to love, was my brother’s lass.


	2. Homecoming

**_Part Two - Homecoming_ **

I arrived at Lallybroch in the middle of the afternoon, after a long journey jostling in the saddle. I was expecting the usual frenzy that surrounded the house in the harvest season, but instead was received by the lonely barks and howls of our dog, the wee creature demonstrating its excitement to see me after a long separation. There wasn’t a living soul within sight and after seeing to my horse in the stables, I made my way to the kitchen, where the heart of our house always pulsed with warmth.

That is the first image I have of her.

She had her back turned to me, so what I noticed first was her curly brown hair carelessly pinned up and the soft white skin of the back of her neck. She was receiving the stream of light from the window and her hair glowed in limitless shades of brown, more than I could ever imagined existed. She was bent over the big table, plucking leafs from a basket. I wondered if she was a new maid and cleared my throat to gather her attention.

When she turned to search for the source of the sudden disturbance I think I forgot my own name for an instant. I had no sense of self; I was propelled out of the boundaries of my own existence and cast to a whirl where those amber eyes were the centre, the only immediate thing. I might have gasped. It was an eternity where I struggled to absorb every detail of that face and body – the shape of her lips, the way a curl fell over her delicate forehead, the hands with long fingers – and yet I knew it couldn’t have lasted more than a second.

“Who the hell are _you_?” She demanded, her hand searching for the handle of a pan placed near her elbow.

I tried to compose myself – did I still know how to talk? It seemed like such an effort, an expense of vital energy I could not endure when all my being was focused in being attracted to her.

“I was about to ask ye the same question, lass.” I said, pleasantly surprised that my voice sounded so firm and composed. “Ye are in my house, ye see.”

“Your house?” She frowned.

“Aye. I’m Jamie Fraser.” I made an attempt on a reassuring smile. “Are ye about to throw that pan over my head, then?”

“Oh.” She seemed to realize she was still holding it like a weapon. “Oh! Jamie!” The woman seemed to remember something and her lips parted in a cheerful smile. “I should have known. You have quite the resemblance with Willie.”

Something inside me growled, bothered beyond reason. I didn’t want her to know me through my brother – I wanted her to see _me_ , to be the only man she would remember. The only name that sweet voice would say, moan and sob. I repressed the sudden – and very vivid – images my fertile imagination, made even more fertile after a year watching all kinds of debauchery in Paris, had managed to conjure, feeling slightly ashamed and utterly alarmed.

“So people tell me.” I replied with a grimace. “Where is everyone?”

“Well Jenny and Mister Fraser went to visit some tenants - something about a dispute with a goat and a coat. Mrs. Crook was taken ill, I’m afraid, nothing too serious but she needs her rest. Willie is out seeing to the mill – it stopped working again. They weren’t expecting you until later this week, I believe.”

“I see.” I replied, watching as she washed her hands in the basin and cleaned them on her apron. It was an old and shabby thing – used to be white but had turned almost grey with the use and some stains were permanent, no matter the vigour placed in the washing. I had a sudden echo, a distant memory of warm and loving hands cradling me, a sweet broad smile, a reassuring perfume of fresh bannocks and wild flowers. It had belonged to my mother; her favourite apron, put aside after her death because it was too big to fit Jenny. And now this strange woman, who had ignited an unseeable fire within me, was wearing it – and it seemed only right.

“I was eager to come home and found a ship which left _Le Havre_ sooner. The weather was pleasant for sailing and we made a good time crossing. Just enough for me to actually survive it.”

“Prone to seasickness, are you?” She gave me a knowing look and smiled, amused. “Better now?”

“Much.” I replied, a foolish grin stubbornly blossoming on my lips. “I’m sorry I frightened ye before, lass. What’s yer name?”

“Claire Beauchamp.” She answered. “But Claire is just fine.”

“Claire.” I repeated, savouring her name in my tongue like a rare delicacy. “What are ye doing?”

“Oh, just making some useful syrups. I have a hand with herbs and there’s an epidemic of…hmm…loosened bowels…going around this area. Careful!” She warned me; but it was too late. While she talked I had touched a pot to inspect its contents and my left hand was now throbbing with pain from a burn on the palm’s sensitive skin. 

“ _Iffrin!_ ”

“Let me see it.” Claire demanded and she did it with such calm authority that I automatically offered her my pulsing hand.

Her fingers delicately touched mine – and it was like being burned by a second time, but this time from a fire that I canna see, that seared me much deeper than mere skin. She looked right into my eyes, trying to calm me and access the damage, and I lost myself in golden bliss.

“Hold your hand still.” She requested, and I did so slightly hissing through my teeth to dissipate some of the discomfort. Claire poured some clean water from a basin into my hand, murmuring meaningless things in a soothing tone – and soothed I was by her. She then went into the cool pantry and came back holding a small bottle, which she placed near my damaged hand.

 “I’ll apply some of this ointment, it will help you heal faster and numb the pain.” She gave me a concerned look. “You can curse if you want to, you know. I wouldn’t be too scandalized.”

“Ach.” I grunted. “I’ve had worse and was tended by hands less merciful than yers, lass.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.” She replied with a cheerful wink. “I’ll have to bandage this, though – you can’t move it much the next few days.”

As she spread the fresh ointment on my hand, the skin already alarmingly red and blistered, I was thoroughly distracted by the privileged view of the curve of her breasts and the smell of her skin. She had the fragrance of crushed grass and clear skies after rain about her, and the underlying muskiness of the exertions of a woman – she smelt of Scotland; she smelt of home.

“I thank ye, Claire.” I said shyly as she began to fold the bandage. “Ye really ken what ye’re doing, aye?”

“Jamie!” A male voice cheered from the door. I turned my head to see my brother, William, storming the kitchen. His red hair was dishevelled and he was only on his shirt sleeves. “What happened, _a balaich?”_

I got up and hugged him, as he patted my back. I had truly missed him.

“Just some clumsy nonsense. Claire here was just finishing fixing me.”

“Ah.” Willie gave Claire a smile full of teeth. “I see ye’ve met my daft brother, Claire. I’m sorry I wasna here to introduce ye two.”

“We got acquainted fast enough.” I said, my eyes still fixed on the way Claire was moving, the outline of her waist and the arch of her back, as she cleaned the disorder created by my injury.

“Claire is the healer I wrote ye about. Ye ken, on my last letter.” Willie threw me a meaningful look.

_No. It canna be. Please, no._

“Is she then?” I said in a weak voice that could be mistaken by disarming pain.

But the smile born on his lips, and the glint in eyes looking in Claire’s direction, made my insides churn. This remarkable woman, whom I had been coveting from the first moment I laid eyes on, was loved by my own brother.

_A Dhia_. _Please._

Maybe we _really_ were as akin as people thought.

****

The reunion with my family was supposed to be a joyful occasion, a celebration of homecoming. Instead, supper that night was for me some kind of personal Hell.

I was sat across the table from Willie, Claire placed by his side. I resentfully chewed my chicken while passionately tried to evaluate the progression of their relationship. They were good friends, to say the least – they talked a lot and Willie was good at making Claire laugh, a crystalline and pure sound that made my bones rattle. He told her stories of his day, including the adventurous repairment of the mill, and she reciprocated in kind.

I watched as he fleetingly touched her hand on the table, asking her to pass the salt – she didn’t flinch away from it, but didn’t seek to prolong his touch either. I found a dark satisfaction in that conclusion, one that brought both relief and pain to my heart.

I felt like the traitor Judas – no, worse than Judas. He betrayed Jesus out of lack of faith, a Messiah that was false to him, whom he had no love for. In my heart I was betraying my beloved brother, my own flesh and blood, and the sacred ties of family that I always assumed were unbreakable.

But I wanted her. I craved madly to touch the curve of her neck and feel the goosebumps on her skin; kiss the corner of those full lips parted to receive me; and tell her all the foolish things only love gives meaning to. I fantasized about claiming her on top of that same table, under the cover of forgiving shadows, quieting her moans with ardent kisses. My cock throbbed and my mind was split in two, like a ripe peach almost about to rotten.

Claire was giggling again from something Willie had just whispered to her. I stabbed my meat with the wrath of Vengeance, for a moment wishing I could do the same to the hand that touched Claire’s back, and hurting my own burnt extremity in the violent process.

Eventually Jenny, Willie and Claire excused themselves from the table to go out for a walk – there was still daylight and the air was uncomfortably sultry inside the house. I declined to accompany them, claiming to be too tired and saddle sore, in deep need of sleep. For what I had gathered Claire was a guest living in our house, her room just two doors from my own; in all truth I foresaw many sleepless nights ahead of me.

When we were finally alone, Da looked at me and his grave eyes seemed all knowing. I feared he could see right through me, as he always did when I was up to mischief as a bairn – and this time could witness the depth of my pain and deception.

“Have a wee dram lad.” He poured me a glass of strong whiskey filled to the brim, and squeezed my healthy hand. “I think ye need it, _Seamus Mac_.”


	3. Northern Lights

**_Part Three – Northern lights_ **

The next day, dawn found me where troubled night had left me – lying in bed, feeling scattered, my head buzzing from the lack of sleep and the stream of continuous thoughts that tormented me.

But I had come to a conclusion during those hours of solitude and quietness. I must rip Claire of my mind, erase every trace of her from my blood where she had entered like unwelcome poison – or cure. She did not belong to me; and could never be mine. What I felt for her was powerful enough to scare me, to leave me gasping for air at the thought of her in my brother’s arms one day. I knew she was the woman who would come to change everything – and yet I had arrived too late for her, and found her on a collision course with the life I used to ken.

I had to find a way to let go; to love her as my dear sister, no more to me than my brother’s respected bride.

I had to find a way to survive the pain of what could never be.

****

In the days that followed I plunged in a whirl of labour at Lallybroch – I usually was up and out of the house even before the sun had completely risen and frequently found reasons to come back only in time for supper. I used every pretext to get as far away as possible from the house, repairing the fence on the boundaries of our lands, making my way to the village to trade a horse or hunting a deer near the farthest stream. I sought the dreamless sleep that comes with deep-bone tiredness; and above all else I meant to escape those eyes that promised me a world in which I could only be an outlander.

That day Ian, my companion since we were wee bairns without front teeth, requested my help to mend the roof from the barn, damaged after a raging summer storm.  

“ _Ith mo chac!_ ” I cursed at one point, kicking some nails and chopped boards, frustration building up inside me after another failed attempt of sealing the leaking hole.

“Jamie.” Ian moved to stand closer to me, folding his arms and furrowing his brow. “Ye’ve been skittish and temperamental like a beast in heat since ye returned. What’s this about?”

“Nothing.” I said, bending over so that he couldn’t see my face. I’ve never been very good at lying – at least not to Ian. “This damned building!”

“Aye.” He nodded, serious. “I’m sure what has been bothering ye is the sudden realization of the flawed construction of Lallybroch.”

I laughed, suddenly aware of the ridicule of the situation. I licked my lips, trying to find the right words.

“It’s complicated, Ian.”

“It must be, I daresay. Ye’ve been sulking like a wee lass who lost her favourite ribbon.” He shook his head. “Do ye no trust me then?”

“I do.” I sat down on a stool and sighed. “But ye must promise me not to share this with a single soul. Specially my dear sister!” I waited until he nodded in agreement. “It’s Claire.”

“What about her?” Ian asked slowly, sitting beside me.

“I have…feelings for her.” I offered him a meaningful look.

“I see.” Ian whispered. “I reckon they are not the amiable and _“glad-to-have-ye-in-the-family”_ type of feelings?”

“Nay, they’re not.” I said with regret. “They are more the _“I want-to-see-whats-under-yer-shift”_ kind.”

“So, ye wish to bed the lass.” Ian said thoughtfully. “Is this only yer balls’ wish or…do ye really love her?”

“I dinna ken.” I said slowly. “But it isna like with Annalise.”

“Weel,” Ian said in a practical tone. “Ye best tell yer brother the truth then, _a charaid_. And better tell him fast before he kens it for himself – for yer heart is showing. Something is amiss and ye hide it very poorly, Jamie lad. If he wasna entirely bewitched himself, he would have noticed it already, as I did.” He gave me a look charged with concern. “Willie is a forgiving man, but I dinna think that wishing to bed the woman he wants for himself falls in that category of good grace. If ye tell him maybe something can be done about it.”

“Like what?” I offered him a wry look. “Do you suggest to share the lass between us like some fertile mare? Ye said it, Ian - He is as enthralled as I am.” I got up and turned my back on him. “I must forget the Englishwoman and that is all there’s to it.”

“Och aye, and how is that working for ye so far?” He asked, amused.

“Just about as good as this roof over our heads.” I grunted. “But I shall endeavour to make it more suitable, nonetheless.”

“Do as ye wish and I shall be by your side.” Ian squeezed my shoulder in support. “But I must warn ye _a charaid_ – the road of lies leads only to three destinations: the hangman’s noose, the grave or a very unhappy existence. Being the honourable man that ye are, I can only expect ye’ll end with the last one.”

****

I only came outside the house because I was feeling suffocated, the walls around me gripping my chest and wame like tentacles of a mythical creature. I couldn’t breathe inside my room; couldna fathom another night in which sleep deserted me. I seldom slept for more than a couple of hours – and would always wake up with a terrible cockstand, a physical pain that couldn’t be ignored, that forced me to abuse myself thinking of her. Afterwards I’d feel dirty and guilty, a sinner without repent – but the pleasure and total abandon she could master within me was always mingled there.

I saw her at once, standing by the fence, leaning into it. I thought of retreating to the house; but it was too late – she had already seen me. I walked there, my heart thundering, trying to look casual.

“The Northern lights.” Claire pointed, excited, when I reached her.

“Ah.” I looked to the sky. It wasn’t the first time I saw it, the _Aurora borealis_. It wasn’t by far a frequent event, but deep in the Highlands the evanescent lights were a known spectacle. That night it was beautiful – a greenish glow, sometimes with a tinge of blue and a faint red in the flowing edges. “The souls of fallen warriors are out tonight then.”

“Is that what you think that is?” She asked me with a vague look of mischief in her eyes.

I shrugged.

“An explanation as good as any, I guess.” I glanced at her profile, lightened by the glowing lights, dipped in silver and blue like a siren in the underwater world. “What do ye think?”

“I think…” She started, then she shook her head and bit her bottom lip. “You know what? I think you’re right. In this place makes much more sense to me to think that souls would carry on and dance forever in the skies. When you die – many _many_ years from now - do you wish to spend eternity wandering the night skies, then?” Claire asked me with a smile.

_I wish only to be where you are. Any place I could watch over you is my rightful place_. But all I managed to say was “Perhaps.”

“I’m glad you appeared actually.” Claire said with a soft voice. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk much since you arrived. How is your hand?”

“Bonny.” I showed her my palm, the skin still sensible but almost healed. “I have ye to thank for it.”

She made a gesture with her hand, dismissing her role in the cure of his ailments.

“You have been quite busy.” Claire added. “Willie is worried that you’re still hurting over this French girl. I’m sorry, I forgot her name – but it was something pompous and…very…french.”

I hummed, clearing my throat, trying to keep my voice steady.

“My brother has nothing to be concerned about. The lass couldn’t be more distant from my memory.”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised, but somewhat pleased to hear it. “Good. Young hearts and all that?”

I snorted.

“I’m nay so sure my heart had much to do with the matter.” I looked away, trying not to be distracted by the shape of her lips and the small frown on her brow. “I shall reassure my brother that all is well.”

We stood in silence for a moment, immersed in our private thoughts.

“Where did you come from, Claire?” I asked suddenly, realizing that I knew very little about her still. An orphan, to be sure; a healer, searching for a place where her talents could be used – but not much more.

“A place far far away.” She tilted her head, partially hiding her face from my eyes.

“I dinna ken there was any place that far – it is England we’re talking, after all. Is it not?” I pressed.

“Yes.” She whispered. “But sometimes it feels like a world away.”

“Do ye long for it?”

“Sometimes.” She brushed the hair from her face, carried by the breeze. “But more often I find myself relishing in the things I’ve earned coming here. On the meaning of it all. I didn’t fit there, not quite – and you can’t really be that homesick when you never had a true home.”

“Is this…home now?” I asked tentatively, moving my hand to encompass Lallybroch. But what I truly wished to ask was _“Do you belong here…with Willie?”_

“I’m beginning to feel a lot like it.” She whispered. “Everyone has been just so nice and welcoming. Willie is a true friend – he helped me settle here and asked for nothing in return.”

_Oh, but he will ask ye something alright. He wants it all, lass._ Instead I offered her an ambiguous “Hm.”

I thought about Ian’s question. Was it just her body that I wanted? _No_. I wished to possess her body, but also to touch her soul; to have her bared not only of clothes but of every mask one usually wears to go about life. I longed to talk to her and to rouse and love her beautiful body in turns for the rest of our days.

The wind was getting stronger and I noticed she was chilled. Without a word, I took off my coat and placed it around her shoulders. I brushed her back in the process and called myself a happy man for that single contact.

“Ah.” She gave me a grateful glance and a sweet smile. “I forgot my shawl inside. It’s getting rather late…Maybe we should call it a night?”

I agreed and we walked together to the house, comparing notes about the welfare of Lallybroch’s inhabitants and the unfortunate marriage of Mary with the brute MacNab.

We finally reached the landing outside our rooms.

“I’m glad we talked.” Claire said, sliding my coat off her shoulders and handing it back to me. “Goodnight, Jamie.”

“Goodnight, Claire.” I whispered back, as she entered her room and closed the door behind her. I placed my hand on her door, the palm open against the hard surface, as if I could will myself to touch her through it.

I had failed. I could never forget Claire; she was as elemental to me as the heart that pulsed inside my chest and as wondrous as the northern lights. She walked my dreams at night and my thoughts during the day. Sometimes I felt myself on the brink of losing my wits; that I would do something as foolish as entering her room at night to stake claim on that body that roused mine without even trying. To tell her I yearned for her; and all else be damned to Hell.

So I had no choice. I had to place her far away from my grasp; where my love for her couldn’t cause destruction amongst my family.

I must send Claire away.

 


	4. Let me down, gently

**Part Four _– Let me down, gently_**

Soon enough I found the perfect opportunity to initiate my plan, one afternoon while I was going over Lallybroch’s ledgers with my father. Although William was the eldest son, and therefore the heir to Lallybroch and future Laird of the lands, he had little patience and skill for the numbers – and so he entrusted me with the task, which I accepted with enthusiasm.

“Ronald MacNab is still in debt. We haven’t seen anything in terms of rent these two years past.” I raised my eyes from the heavy ledger to look at Da. “Perhaps a subtle reminder that the subject isna forgotten?”

“Och.” He said, tapping his fingers on the desk. “The man is freshly marrit. I’ll give him some leniency for now, for Mary’s sake. Coming next year he’ll pay what he owes me.”

“Hmmm.” I clicked my tongue in disbelief. “If he canna make ends meet we might have to confiscate a couple of sheep.”

“I have plenty of sheep.” My father pointed, smiling. “Let the man stand on his own two feet before we come thundering over him like God Almighty. Ye have to offer a man the tools to support himself and his family before ye can demand anything more. Ye should always remember that, _a bhalaich_ – these are our tenants, our people. We must be fair to them or they’ll desert us when we need them the most.”

“I never wish to see myself in a situation where I could possibly need Ronald’s help.” I said begrudgingly. “The man is a rancorous drunk and a dark soul to boot. But I ken yer meaning.”

“Aye.” He composed his spectacles and inclined over the enormous book to read the small inscriptions that reported the sacs of grain available in the homestead.

“When I was at Leoch,” I started slowly, struggling to keep my voice even. “The castle’s physician, Davie Beaton, was stricken by a terrible fever. May God have his soul in his kingdom.” I hastily made the sign of the cross. “Colum was desperate to find another healer with such capacities.”

“Oh, aye?” My father replied absently, narrowing his eyes to try to decipher William’s handwriting.

“Yes.” I shrugged, feeling highly uncomfortable with my recently discovered conniving nature. “The man has such puir health. He needs someone capable to help quell the ache in his legs and back.”

“Jamie.” Da interrupted softly, his eyes still immersed amongst the yellow pages. “Is this conversation leading somewhere? To Claire Beauchamp, perhaps?”

“Aye.” I answered with a poor attempt at nonchalance, my heart hammering against my ribcage. “I was wondering if Claire isna just the perfect solution to Colum’s problems. She is a fine healer – I’m sure Colum would be delighted to have her at Leoch. Would cover her in gold and respect, I’m sure of it.” I finished with a weak smile.

“Do ye now?” He finally looked at me. His eyes, framed by dark and thick eyebrows, were intense as always, evaluating me. I’m sure he knew more than I could ever tell him in words – my father always was an impeccable judge of character and a _connoisseur_ of men’s hearts and motives. He sighed, slightly shaking his head.

“Jamie, this isna right…”

“Nothing about this is right.” I whispered, closing my fist. I was shaking now with the repressed emotions that I had worked so hard to bury within me, threatened to be exposed for the desperate and love-sick thing I had become. “ _Please_ , Da.”

He studied me for a moment longer and finally reached out to touch my shoulder with his warm and reassuring hand.

“I’ll ask the lass if she wants me to write to Colum MacKenzie asking about it. That’s all I can promise, son.”

****

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I heard her say behind me. I turned and watched as she stomped into the field where I had been reaping, her wild hair flowing around her face and her amber eyes blazing. She looked riveting and very _very_ _mad_.

“I dinna understand…” I started but she interrupted me, raising an accusing finger in my direction.

“Oh, don’t you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!” Claire hissed. “You had the gall to ask your father to send me to Leoch, didn’t you? At least show some bravery now and own up to what you did!”

“I did.” I admitted readily, placing the scythe on the ground. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Oh, did you?” She opened her arms, her face a mask of mockery. “Nothing makes me as happy as been dispensed like some merchant’s commodity!”

“They need a healer.” I said calmly. “And ye’re one, are ye no?”

“I am.” She grunted. “But I’m already a healer _here_ , I don’t need to go gallivanting across the Highlands to prove myself!”

Her face was ferocious and I thought for a moment she would strangle me. I never wished so much to kiss her; to turn that rage into something physically smouldering, which would consume us both in blazing glory.

“I thought your gifts would be best used there, that’s all.” I answered, bending over my head.

“I thought we were getting along.” She said resentfully, her voice trembling like the chord of a harp that someone had mishandled.  I realized she was hurt. “I thought we were friends. Do you wish me gone, is that it?”

_Yes, I want you gone. No, I want you in my arms where you belong._

“We are friends.” I gulped and then held her gaze with my own. “But I have to protect my brother, Claire.”

“Your brother?!” She repeated, confused. “I don’t see what William has to do with this – with you acting like a consummated prick.”

“I believe that is some outrageous use of language, unfitted for a lady like yerself.” I said, irritated. “But if you must know…my brother is in love with ye. Will you pretend ye dinna ken that?”

She opened her mouth to protest but closed it, her lips pressing in a thin line.

“I like William very much.” She said softly – and the fact she had chosen to ignore my declaration of my brother’s intentions didn’t fail to intrigue me. “I would never do anything to hurt him on purpose.”

“Sometimes people are hurt, nonetheless, in spite of our best efforts.” I said in a hoarse voice. “He will soon ask for yer hand in marriage and what will ye do, then?”

I waited for her answer, my heart jumping from my chest into my craving hands. _What will you do? Will you take him?_

But even if she didn’t, I knew that changed nothing between us. Reject him she might; but that decision didn’t change the fact that we _both_ loved her. She might not be William’s – but she would never be mine either.

“I expect that is something between myself and William.” She replied in a neutral tone; but her face, which I came to realize was made of human glass, betrayed her anguish. “If the time ever comes, I’ll give my answer to him and only him.” She tilted her graceful chin in a defiant move. “But I won’t run away just because you’re scared!”

“I’m not scared!” I lied, feeling irrationally angry – with her, for appearing and causing a storm in which I had minimal chances of survival; with God, for testing me in the most wicked of ways; with William, for daring to steal the only woman in the world that could make me feel there was more to life than merely being alive; with Ian, for being right as always, foretelling a future of unwavering unhappiness; and above all else, with myself, stuck between impossible choices and powerless to control my heart’s desires.

“Yes, you are!” She exclaimed in victory, her face just inches away from my own. Her breath was fresh, smelling of mint with a tang of cider. “Oh, you are and very much so. I just don’t know why, yet. Are you afraid I’ll steal away your brother from you, is that it?”

_I’m afraid he is going to steal YOU from me._

“You don’t ken me, lass.” I hissed back. God, I wanted to punch something. I wanted to let go of all that anger and ache and pushed her against the dry ferns, pull her skirts up and plunge into oblivious bliss. I wanted to silence her with ravenous kisses, leave her panting under me, in possession of all my secrets.

“I think I do.” She whispered, searching my eyes. “And maybe that is the thing that truly scares you.”

And she whirled her plaid skirts and was away from me in a heartbeat. Claire halted at the distance and turned her head to say firmly above her shoulder.

“I’m staying.” And she marched in the direction of the well to grab a bucket of fresh water.

She won’t leave. There was no way to measure my desperation. There was no way to measure my delight.

****

Because my day was just _that_ perfect, my brother found me still at the field, joining me on my efforts of destroying weeds – and the impurity of thoughts involving Claire’s heaving bosom and fierce lips.

“So,” He started, as he stopped to drink from his flask. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…What do you make of her? Claire?” I closed my eyes for a second, commending my soul to the Lord. I thought my grace and self-control had been tested enough for the day. Apparently not.

“A fine healer.” I made a foolish attempt at a laugh. “My burnt hand speaks highly of her.”

“Aye. She is an able woman, kind and wise.” He smiled. “And very bonny, is she no?”

_Not bonny. Magnificent_.

I hummed an agreement, trying to be supportive but not overly excited. I feared if I started to talk about her I shall never stop, and would inadvertently reveal the depth of my feelings.

“I was thinking of giving her Ma’s ring when I ask her.” Willie said, shyly. “But I reckon I should ask ye – Jenny already told me she doesna have a problem with that.”

My eyesight blurred for a moment, the vision of Claire’s lean finger sporting the silver wedding band that used to embellish our mother’s hand. It was a perfect image – safe that my being cried out for the honour of being the one to put it there. _God, oh God._

“It seems right.” I inhaled deeply. “But Willie, are you certain of this?”

I glanced at him, cleaning the sweat from his brow, and he looked surprised. His hair was flaming under the merciless sun, mirroring my own. _Uilleam Ruaidh_. Red William.

 “Of course.” He said. “We get along so well and I….I love her, Jamie.” My heart sunk within my chest, hearing the tenderness in his voice. “I dinna want to wait too much, ye ken? She is a special woman, Claire. If I wait about overthinking it, I’m sure another man will come and try to take her from me.”

“When will you do it?” I asked, my voice barely audible as I madly returned to the job of scything the bloody endless field, the only outlet I could find to the convoluted emotions that floated through me.

“After the festivities in _Broch Mordha_.” Willie said, scratching the light scars on his face. “I want to give us a little more time, make sure things are settled.” He grinned. “I wish you would find someone to make you happy, Jamie. Can you imagine, both of us married with our own bairns following us around?”

“Seems farfetched.” I retorted, trying to divert the conversation from any impending nuptials. “You know what Jenny says, I inherited the bulk of Fraser’s stubbornness. I dinna see a lass willing to put up with me.”

“You’re a good man, _mo brathair.”_ He replied, serious. “You’re the best of us all. I can’t thank ye enough for being here and helping me with Claire.”

I couldn’t take it. It was too much.

Incapable of dealing with the pain that pilled inside my chest like a mountain, Claire’s and Willie’s words echoing around me like curses, I swirled the scythe and hit my own foot.


	5. Love Unspoken

**Part Five – _Love Unspoken_**

“You didn’t need to try to amputate your foot just to convince me to forgive you, you know.”  Claire said, while examining the needle she had just used to apply some much needed stitches on my skin. “I would have been perfectly pleased with a simpler _“I’m sorry, Claire.”_ ”

“I’ve always been the big gestures type.” I groaned, as she stretched the tender skin to make sure the wound had stopped oozing blood. “After all, I have plenty of toes available and only the one healer around.”

She snorted with mirth, as she unfolded the linen bandages she was to use to ligate my massacred foot. I was becoming very used to this routine, after my last injury.

“You’re lucky you were wearing your boots - you’d have lost at least a couple of toes without them.”

“How come I dinna feel that lucky just now?” I watched as her skilled hands worked. She had been gentle, careful to hurt me only when strictly necessary, and had talked to me with tenderness throughout the whole gruesome experience, trying to make me forget the pain. She could have seized the opportunity to make me pay for my wrong ways, torturing me relentlessly. She didn’t - and I was grateful, for my heart was sore enough as it was. “I _am_ sorry, Claire.” I added in a hoarse voice; I had done plenty of screaming and cursing in the last hour.

Her eyes searched mine; she looked concerned and tired. She must have found some sincerity reflecting there, for she presented me with a smile.

“Forgiven.” She said softly. Her hand brushed my damp hair away from my forehead, a natural and tender touch that left me reeling. “But maybe in the future you can talk to me instead of going behind my back? Maybe we can promise honesty to each other?”

I swallowed hard and closed my eyes, silently nodding in agreement. I would be honest with her alright – except about the most important thing my life. _I love ye. I can never live without ye. Ye are forbidden to me._

“Good.” She patted my shin cheerfully. “May I send your brother in?”

“If ye must.” I groaned. Willie had been hovering around like a moor’s spirit, after he had carried me inside the house and into my bedroom, where Claire had swiftly came to attend to me. Eventually worn out from his relentless questions and worried that he might faint, leaving her with two miserable patients – as my brother was fearless as a Viking, but dinna really enjoyed the sight of spurting blood as one – she shooed him outside, with faint reassurances that she would take good care of me all by herself. I supported this notion with all my heart.

That I felt more than a shred of happiness and excitement at the thought of us together, alone and in close proximity, completely ignoring the fact that her soft touch came at the expense of almost chopping off my own foot, seemed only to epitomize the state of mind in which I found myself.

Claire gave me an exasperated look, clearly thinking that a dozen of stitches weren’t really an excuse to behave live a spoilt and whimpering bairn.

“Not really in the mood for visitors?” She questioned, organizing her wee instruments like a general displaying his troops on the eve of battle. “He might bring you some whiskey to dull some of that pain. You look like you could use it.” She enticed.

“Aye.” I sighed. “Let the man in. I might as well thank him for helping me; dying in such circumstances - he saved me from being the laughingstock at my own wake, I reckon.”

****

The next couple of weeks were a strenuous affair – my foot ached like a fiend; throbbing in conformity with that tender place inside me, which seemed to travel between somewhere in my head and somewhere inside my chest. Sometimes I thought I’d drop dead at a moment’s notice - but maybe there is no apoplexy of the soul; and so I was condemned to learn how to live with pain as a constant companion.

I walked for short distances and lengths of time at first; that forced me to be around Claire even more than before, as I wasna able to escape using my usual pretexts.

After I managed to place the visions of her body roused by mine - the secrets of her womanhood revealed to me as gospel - inside a vault somewhere in my head, I was able to talk to her without feeling so utterly overwhelmed. They would still come about, of course, like tears of light during a thunderstorm – sometimes when she laughed and her breath caught in her throat or when she moved in effort and a drop of sweat slid between her breasts – but I was able to enjoy her company and find in her a kindred spirit. She wasna only beautiful, capable and witty; but fearless, brave, quick with her mind and very warm. Claire was a _woman_ \- and everything about that spoke to the man I was steadily becoming. I wished to rise above myself for her; to be taken seriously and maybe, at times, to be to her what she was to me.

I helped her with small tasks that made me feel less of an invalid, like carving her a new set of wooden bowls for her herbs and concoctions; and we had long conversations in the shadows of the kitchen or catching the breeze in the courtyard. I even told her about Paris and my foolish duel; I knew deep inside I was trying to make myself look more desirable in her eyes – but did it nonetheless. We truly became friends; I still wished for so much more.

I had her just for me in those glorious days. I could almost pretend we were a married couple, pleasantly sitting together working; our bodies content to share another type of intimacy during the day, different from the one shared in our bedroom at night. Those were the ravings of a man lost from this world; and yet I couldn’t let go.

And so I stood there, in the festivities at _Broch Mordha_ , knowing that my happy interlude was about to end. I could see my brother growing increasingly more anxious the last couple of days, readying himself to propose to Claire. _Soon_.

People were singing and dancing around the bonfire, a flute filling the air with harmonious notes. I was inclined to remain in a corner, drinking whiskey and hard feelings.

“I’m thinking of going away.” Ian told me unexpectedly, while he was standing there next to me, removed from the dancing circle. “I’ve met a man in Cranesmuir and he told me about a position soldering in France.” He looked at me, the fire reflected in his brown eyes. “I have a mind to take it.”

“Ye do?” I asked him surprised. “I thought ye intended to stay here, farming the land. Helping us in the keeping of Lallybroch. I’d never think ye a fighting man at heart.”

“I’m hardly that.” He smiled tersely. “But I ought to find my place, Jamie. I love ye as a brother and ye ken that well.” Ian stroked my shoulder. He tilted his head, gazing beyond the lively gathering and his face went serious. “But things are calling me away.”

“Are they?” I raised an eyebrow. “So ye’re not running away from my sister?”

“Jenny has nothing to do with it!” Ian hissed, looking around us like I had just revealed him a warlock within Inquisition’s earshot. “Not all of us are as lost as ye are.” He added ruefully. His gaze landed on Claire, smiling and drinking next to Willie on the other side of the fire.

“Aye.” I grunted, following his look. “But that should tell ye that I understand, _a brathair_.”

I knew his eyes would always seek Jenny, as mine perpetually followed Claire. My sister was bonny that night, her black hair sleek and embellished with a flower from our garden. Claire was splendorous on a gown that revealed just enough of the creamy skin above her breasts, the fire catching the copper and gold of her hair. We were both foolish men, ruled by our hearts.

“I ken all about it.” I added. “That deafening sound, that doesna let ye hear anything else. The loudest sound of all, even than the _bodhrán_.” I looked at him and gave him a sad smile, as I raised my flask in silent recognition. “Love unspoken”.

****

Once Claire had started dancing with Willie, I turned my back and went to find appropriate ground to lick my wounds, as a battered and old wolf.

I sat on a fallen log in the periphery of the celebration, drinking small sips of whiskey that did very little to quell the fiery monster inside me. I was angry and unrightfully jealous.

A lass that used to live in the village and my sister’s friend, Blair, came and sat next to me. We always got along nicely, as she was a sweet lass and a kind heart. But she was strong and had very little of those conundrums that usually surround women after a certain age – she reminded me of Claire in those traits. When she went to live further away with an aunt, after her father’s passing, we lamented it deeply.

“Are ye alright?” She asked softly. “Ye dinna look like yerself.” And seeing my confused look, she continued. “Ye’re always cheerful and in good spirits. Is something amiss?”

“Aye.” I nodded slightly. “Everything is _very much_ amiss.”

“Och.” She shook her head and a look of concern dawned in her eyes. “Can I be of any service? Help ye in any way?”

I smiled and touched her hand in friendship. “Ye already are. I thank ye.”

I raised my eyes to see Claire standing on the edge of the circle, directly looking at our figures curled together on the log. She had a small frown about her that I had come to recognize as a sign of distress.

“And ye Blair?” I forced myself to look to my current companion, feeling uncertain, my heart thumping inside my chest. “Are ye well, lass?”

“I am.” She grinned like a small devil. “I’m to be married to Thomas Campbell. The poor lad doesna ken what’s coming for him.”

I laughed and touched her cheek, for a moment happy to share some of her joy. My eyes darted to Claire, now slightly tapping her fingers on her thigh as she continued to watch us, without being able to hear what we were talking about.

“Will I be invited then?” I asked, attempting one of my terrible winks.

“Of course.” Blair laughed. “Maybe ye can bring the lass that is looking at us like she wants to hang me in the nearest tree. Are ye two promised?”

I gave her a little smile and brushed away a golden lock, stranding in the wind, placing it behind her ear. I could swear Claire had bitten her bottom lip and turned her gaze blatantly away, after seeing my affectionate gesture.

“She’s not mine to take, Blair.”

“Oh, but she will be.” She winked back, with a much better effect. “Or perhaps she already is – she just has to ken it for herself, aye?”

****

I relinquished any attempt at sleeping once I gave my bed one good look. I knew the events of the night would parade behind my closed eyelids once I relaxed enough to try and reach for the touch of Hypnos. I had no wish to toss around, trying to make sense of things that held no meaning. Even when I found sleep, Claire never left me – and once my barriers were down, I’d see her in all her splendour and would became transfixed by the depth of my loss.

I tried to read, but even Defoe offered me no solace in the adventures of _Robinson Crusoé_. So eventually I opened my door and went outside my room, uncertain of my destiny but refusing to stand still and let my emotions catch me in their claws.

I ended near the window seat at the end of the hall – a full moon shone in the dark sky, lending a silvery glow to the fields outside and my own gripped fists. I remembered that night under the Northern Lights, the night I had realized the true nature of my feelings for Claire.

Was it possible that I wasn’t indifferent to her? I barely dared to hope as much; but her face had betrayed her once she saw me with the lass - there was the look of a jealous woman, if I ever saw one.

I knew she was there even before I heard her. I was more attuned with her than I ever had been with anyone else; I might even predict her next heartbeat with my own heart’s rhythm. My body answered to her in an uncanny way. I was _hers._

“I heard you leaving your room.” She said. I finally looked at her, noticing she was only in her shift, her modesty preserved by a light shawl. I could see her figure outlined by the silvery light and wondered how she would look, bared, lying on the floor bathed only in moonlight. “You seem to be having trouble sleeping lately.” Claire added, coming closer to me. Her hair was loose, curling around her face like a riotous cloud.  “I hear you almost every night, moving and sometimes speaking.”

“Aye.” I looked outside, forcing myself to avoid her blinding sight. _Please God, make her go away from me._

“What’s wrong?” She asked softly. My eyes bore into hers and I saw her disquiet there.

I hesitated, searching for some excuse to give. But I was tired, more than I ever had been in my life; and felt very tender. She once asked me for the truth – maybe it was time to let someone share the burden of honesty.

“I think ye know”. I answered in a husky voice and let down the mask I had fought so hard to maintain. I knew my hunger was written there; my desperation; my _love_.

“Jamie…” She gasped and I knew she too fought to find words then. I had none to give her - so I gave her everything else.

My hands were on her thin waist, as I pulled her closer to me – gently, so I knew she would come of her own free will. She exhaled deeply, our breaths coming together in our closeness. Her hands came up and landed on my shoulders; for a moment I was certain she would push me away.

“Claire.” I almost growled her name, squeezing her tightly against me. “If you don’t want me to kiss ye, ye have to say it.” She licked her lips and held my gaze, but said nothing. “Say it. Say it, _damn you_!”

I couldn’t tell who moved first – maybe I plunged for her mouth or she meant to silence me – but our lips met. It was a chaste kiss at first, as if we were testing our own resolution.

But I had one kiss to savour her, to show her all she was to me. I had one kiss to possess her – one kiss to pretend she was mine. I deepened our connection, my mouth hungrily exploring hers, as our tongues met in an igniting dance. My hands gripped her waist – I daren’t move them, for I knew I couldn’t stop myself from exploring her whole body if I did – and I meant to show her I would only take what she wanted to give me.

In her kiss I found my grace long forgotten. For a moment I didn’t think of Willie and the aftermath of our reckless moment. As she lightly bit my bottom lip, I thought only I’d die happily in that moment, her in my arms and our lips sealed together. I knew I should be gentler, but I ravished her mouth, until I almost tasted blood.

Eventually we came apart, only to see William glaring at us from across the hall, his blue eyes dark with a cold that left us shivering after each other’s warmth, wrath sitting on his shoulder.

“Ye must be feeling much better these days, _brother_.”


	6. This Truth Won’t Set You Free

**Part Six – _This Truth Won’t Set You Free_**

When I was eight years old, I disobeyed my father’s orders and sneaked at dawn to ride my brother’s mount all by myself. We ended in a swamp and the beast got stuck, unable to get out of the muddy ground where it became increasingly more trapped. In its desperate struggle, the beautiful horse broke a leg. Eventually we were found, but the creature had to be put out – a merciful end to its pain. William was understandably furious – he pushed me away and cursed me when I got home. I thought he would never speak to me again.

Two days after that I went to him, while he was fishing in the _loch_ , and gave him a very heartfelt apology with tears blooming in my eyes. I was young and foolish – but knew I had caused him an immense heartbreak. The pain of the fresh trashing on my behind was nothing compared to the devastation of being at odds with him.

“Will ye ever be able to forgive me?” I had asked him then. He looked at me with his blue eyes, soft and glowing under the sunlight.

“Ye are my brother, Sawny.” He finally said, pointing to a place beside him so I could sit down. “There’s nothing ye could ever do that I wouldna forgive.”

I held on to that believe and it had proven to be an unbreakable vow for us both. But looking into my brother’s eyes when he found me kissing the woman he had claimed for himself, I thought perhaps he had finally found the exception to that rule.

We stood there for a moment in silence, the three of us locked in a strange triangle, waiting for the next move, hearing the vibrations of words yet unsaid.

Claire finally moved, tightening the grip of her shawl around her shoulders as if she meant to fortify herself, and that broke the stillness that entrapped us.

“Willie…” She started, but my brother raised his hand to stop her from proceeding. His face was convoluted – pain, rage and sorrow crawling under his skin, ready to burst out – and he glared at me. I knew what was coming.

“How could ye, Jamie?” He asked slowly and hoarsely, as if he had a sharp blade cadged somewhere inside his chest; he probably did – I was the one who had put it there. “What were ye thinking?”

“Brother…” I said, but he hissed and slapped his hand on his leg, fury pouring from him like cold wind from a broken window, blowing me away from him.

“Dinna call me that!” He screamed. “My _brother_ would never try to force the woman I love! So ye’re clearly _not_ my brother!”

“I ken I’ve wronged ye, Willie.” I retorted, licking my bruised lips. “But ye canna really believe I was forcing Claire.”

“Oh, so ye’re suggesting she came to ye of her own free will?” He spat, a cruel laugh forming on his lips. “That _she_ kissed ye?”

“We both wanted it.” I felt blood pounding inside my ears. “We dinna meant to hurt ye, but we…”

He came over me like a raging bull – he might be shorter than me, but had always been strong and well built – and the punch he gave me on the cheekbone sent me reeling to the ground. I had yet to find a way to breathe again when he kicked me in the gut, leaving me panting and retching on the floor boards.

“Stop!” I heard Claire screaming. “Please Willie, stop it!”

“What in the name of God is happening here?” Jenny’s voice imposed over the racket in the hallway. She was dressed to bed, sleep still touching her eyes. “Why are ye two fighting like mad cockerels? Stop it this second or ye’ll wake up father!”

“I reckon ye should ask Jamie.” Willie panted, looking at me with his face covered in shadows. “But dinna put too much trust in any word that comes out of his mouth - our brother has made himself into a deceitful bastard.”

And he marched from the hall with tears streaming down his cheeks, flying over the steps down the stairs.

“Willie!” Jenny called after him. With a look of confused exasperation in my direction, she ran after him. We heard the door opening to let someone outside the house and after a while her voice pleading “Wait!”.

“God, what have we done?” Claire whispered. She crouched to help me sit straight, my back supported by the stones of the wall. It felt cool and somewhat soothing against my heated skin, even through the fabric of my damp shirt. I saw her, examining my cheek with attentive eyes. Her pink lips were swollen after our kiss, her hair entirely tousled. I felt very much like curling into the floor and crying my heart out. “How could we have been so reckless and stupid?”

“I dinna ken what ye were expecting.” I blurted. I felt my face sore and rigid, the taste of blood filling my mouth, a strange darkness oozing from somewhere inside me. “Coming out of yer room only in yer shift to comfort me.”

“Don’t you dare blame this on me, James Fraser!” Claire said fiercely. “Don’t blame me for the desires in your heart! We are both guilty - both equally to blame for our part in this.”

“Ye had a choice.” I grunted, feeling my teeth with my tongue to make sure everything remained firmly attached to my jaw. “Ye could have asked me not to kiss ye.”

“So did you.” She gave me an irritated look. “I don’t remember you running away before you stuck your tongue inside my mouth.”

“I was doing alright before ye behaved like a jealous wife once ye saw me talking to Blair.” I felt irrationally angry. “And then ye came to me…and I…”

“Oh, so evidently I’m the temptress here.” She offered me a sardonic chuckle. “Stop acting like a bloody idiot Jamie or I might just slap you on the other cheek.”

I raised my hand and pressed my forehead with my knuckles – a mighty headache was installing itself inside my skull, churning my thoughts like a mill.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered. “I’m just… I dinna ken how to fix this.”

“Well, I’ll give you one hint.” She raised from the floor and stepped away from me. “Pushing me away won’t do it.”

I got up, feeling slightly dizzy and very hollow inside, the happiness of our embrace relentlessly stripped away from me.

“Do ye regret it?” I asked, afraid of her answer. She wouldn’t look into my eyes; instead her gaze was fixed in the window. I could see Willie and Jenny outside - she was talking and he was shaking his head, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Of all the regrets I have in my life,” Claire answered in a low voice. “Hurting your brother is the worst of them all.”

And then she walked away and entered her room, leaving me in the quiet hall, feeling like the loneliest creature that ever walked the earth.

****

I sat on William’s bed waiting for him to come back to his room, once Jenny had calmed him down. I thought our impending argument wouldn’t benefit from more time to steep grudges and carve wedges between us. I had made the first painful step towards a more honest existence – and intended to see it through.

He stopped at the entrance as soon as he noticed me. William’s blue eyes were rimmed with red; his face livid, making the smallpox marks more visible under the glow of the moon. I knew he had been half expecting this – we were both Frasers and running from confrontations was against our nature.

“I’d thank ye if ye could get out of my room.” He said coldly.

“I don’t think that’s possible quite so soon.” I sighed. “We need to say our peace, Willie.”

“Peace?” He snarled and then he laughed – it was a cold and primal sound, one that didn’t suit his usually calm and collected temper. “Unless ye say ye lost yer wits for a bit and didn’t really intend to kiss Claire, I dinna see how there could be peace between us ever again.”

“I can’t say that.” I answered, gripping my fists. My face was still sore from his vengeful blow. “Ye of all people should understand that I was…powerless…against what I felt for her. From the moment I first saw her – I’ve been in love with Claire.”

He hissed and curled his own fists like he barely could control the eagerness to strike me again.

“Ye knew what I felt.” William accused with bitterness. “Ye heard me talk about her time and time again. And yet ye were capable of just standing there, pretending to support me, all the time plotting to steal her away from me!”´

“There was no plotting involved.” I growled. “Dinna make it sound like hurting ye was a deliberate act on my part, Willie!” I messed my hair in exasperation. “Ye dinna ken how hard I tried to fight it; to bury it deep within me. But I couldn’t refuse her, no more than I could stop myself from breathing.”

“Ye think ye love her.” He said between his teeth. “But ye dinna ken the first thing about her. Ye werena here when I found her. She was scattered, Jamie. _Broken_. I…” He gulped, looking at his callused hands. “I cradled her against my heart and cherished her until she was herself again. The woman ye claim to love only exists because _I_ healed her.”

“I ken who she is at heart.” I defended, my chest constricted with unwelcome doubt.

He glared at me and shook his head in disbelief.

“There’s more to her than what meets the eye, Jamie.” He warned me. “Would ye risk her happiness when ye dinna ken what ye’re claiming? Would ye really be so selfish to take her away from me, only to shy away from her once ye learn it all?”

“I’m not perfect, _brother_.” I said between teeth. “But ye’re making me sound like less than a honourable man and little more than a whoremaster.”

William walked to sit on the armchair near the fire, hiding his face from me. I could only see his profile, flames from the hearth claiming the red of his strands. When he spoke, his words were like shards of glass and his voice sounded like a stranger’s.

“I won’t give her up, Jamie. I could give her everything – while ye were courting a French lassie not four moons ago. I believe yer heart is easily swayed. Ye’re young and infatuated with an older and beautiful woman.”

I felt anger and – yes, pride – rising within me. I knew he was hurt and understood all too well his eagerness to hurt me back – but refused to stand in silence while he mocked my feelings for Claire.

“Perhaps,” I said. “We should let _her_ decide what she wants.”

He looked at me then, his hand supporting his temple, the long fingers white and powerful.

“Fight me in this,” He said slowly. “And ye’ll probably lose us _both_.”

I walked to the door, my back turned to him, and whispered almost inaudibly.

“Goodnight, brother.”


	7. The Cicadas' Song

**Part Seven – _The Cicadas’ Song_**

It was like balancing on the edge of a sharpened razor; like hanging on the edge of a precipice, one foot in the air floating above the crushing void and one perilously supported on the instable surface, soon to be nothingness. That sensation of being imminently falling was what I felt sitting across my brother while we break fast that morning.

When I entered the room, my father had crooked an eyebrow in silent question, noticing my swallowed and bruised cheek, pregnant with violent meaning. We sat in silence munching away whatever Mrs. Crook had placed in front of us – at that point I couldn’t distinguish dirt from honey, my mouth filled with the foul taste left by the night’s events.

I sat across the table from Claire and William, as I had on the night I arrived at Lallybroch. But unlike that occasion, there weren’t any laughs or silly conversations. Willie wasn’t leaning over Claire and she wasn’t smiling looking back at him. Instead, she ate with her eyes down, lost in contemplation of her plate, blatantly avoiding to cross her gaze with any of us.

William seemed calm on the outside, but I was certain somewhere inside him his feelings were still simmering away, ready to burst if I produced enough heat. He answered to my father’s questions about the welfare of our new sow in just enough words to avoid more inquiries about our gloomy disposition.

Jenny spent the entire meal throwing me dark looks charged with meaning, her black brows furrowed in my direction – I knew William must have told her what had passed between us and the reason behind our quarrel – and I was fairly certain she didn’t approve of my behaviour and was dying to get a chance to give me a piece of her mind.

I wished to find a moment to speak to Claire alone; to finally understand the meaning of our kiss – earth-shattering but costly to us both.

Unfortunately my plans were delayed, as Claire promptly left with her wee basket to make some visits; she had patients to attend to - a bout of upset stomachs and punishing headaches flourishing on the wake of last night’s drinking prowess. Luckily William had promised to help with the delivery of a calf in a nearby cottage – and so I was left to think and sulk in solitude.

My brother had offered me an ultimatum in the previous night; Claire or the ties that bound us, thicker than blood. I felt shattered and anxious; the more so because my true choice had been made the moment I had met her – there was no real choice at all. I had tried and failed to pretend I didn’t love her; it was time to try directness as a new approach.

Just before supper I went to find her in the garden where she planted and talked to her herbs and flowers. I knew she had already come back, having seen her basket placed by the front door.

As I came around the house, I heard William’s voice. I halted, my presence concealed by the stoned walls.

“He’s a young man, Claire.” He said. “He thinks he kens better – but he doesn’t. I canna believe how selfish and conniving he has been.”

“I kissed him back, Willie.” She replied patiently. “You seem to glaze over that every time I mention it, but… _I did_. I’m to blame for this, so please – don’t be angry with your brother! I can’t stand causing a rift between you.”

“Oh, I’m angry with you _both_.” He snickered. “But I ken Jamie can be appealing and charming when he wants to. Besides,” Willie hesitated. “I haven’t been completely honest with ye and perhaps things would have been different if I did.”

“What do you mean?”

I peeked and saw them sitting together on the bench near the flower bed. The roses were flourishing, filling the air with their sweet and intoxicating scent.

“I love ye.” William said in a hoarse voice, almost a whisper carried by the wind. “I want ye to marry me.”

“William…” She started but he placed a finger on her lips. I struggled with the sudden urge to slice it off with my dirk.

“Don’t answer me yet.” He pleaded. “I ken ye have feelings for Jamie. I _was_ listening.” He smiled a little. “But I can make ye forget all about it, I promise. In time we would be happy together. _I_ can make you happy, Claire.”

I watched powerless as he placed his hands on her face, framing it with his fingers, and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

****

It was the middle of the afternoon - a peculiarly warm day as I recall it, like the very earth beneath my feet was made of coals and flames, a hidden door communicating with the vapours of Hell. The air danced with it, like waves of unseen warmth ready to engulf me. I felt irritated, my skin clammy even when standing still; my kilt heavy and always drenched with sweat.

Outside the cicadas were madly chanting their appreciation of such droughty and scorching weather, a constant song that made me feel less isolated from reality – at least until I remembered the time when we were bairns and Willie had managed to capture a cicada. He had trapped the poor bug in an old bottle and insisted he would keep it as a companion; he even told me he would teach the cicada a new song and they would sing it together in the summer.

But William always had a pure and caring heart; he quickly realized that a lonely cicada has no soul for singing and we had freed it together on a sizzling evening. That night we had slept outside, under the stars, lulled by the cicadas’ song.

Those were the times in which we had shared everything – the discoveries, pains and joy of growing up. Our newly found distance was like a wound teasing and weakening me – I had no idea how to live without standing on my brother’s side.

I was in the stables minding the horses – they felt like the only company that I could tolerate, the ones who wouldn’t judge and ask impossible things of me. 

Infuriated with the feeling of having my shirt permanently pasted on my skin, I had taken it off while working. Sometimes a soft breeze would come through the beams, making my perspired skin tingle in a pleasant way.

“I was looking for you.” Claire said, coming around a corner. “I think we ought to talk, don’t you?”

I stopped for a while in the process of shovelling manure and glared at her. She was clad in a light green dress and by the way it wrapped around her, I was sure she wasn’t wearing a petticoat or bum roll underneath it - probably seeking to avoid some of the heat. I swallowed hard, shielding my invisible castle walls around my traitorous pounding heart, and resumed my task.

“I’d rather not.” I replied dryly.

“Jamie.” She pushed on and moved to stand closer to me. “I know you’re hurt. I wish you would mend your fences with Willie. I want to help.”

“I think ye’ve helped plenty already.” I gave her an ironic smirk. She seemed sad and taken aback by my tone, but bravely held her head high, her chin fierce and defiant.

“Alright,” Claire said. “Maybe I deserve some of that. But I can’t see you two making everything into a battle field and me standing in the middle, helpless to stop it!” She crossed her arms. “I refuse to have my life turned into a bloody Shakespeare play!”

I heard her and somewhere inside me there was a place that felt her ache and responded to her resolution; but I was ready to burst and feared the results of such explosion for the both of us – so I continued to move the shovel and seemingly ignored her words.

“Will you stop and talk to me?” She demanded, stretching her arms to take hold of the tool I was wielding. “Look at me, Jamie!”

I growled and slightly pushed her away but she hissed back like a mad cat and lounged for me, her arms locking around my bared chest. When our bodies came in full contact I gasped, the feeling of her skin directly in contact with my taut muscles overwhelming; my body painfully responding to the stimulus of feeling her so close with so little layers between us. The taste of her mouth was still fresh on my lips.

She must have felt something too, for her amber eyes softened and she tilted her head to look at my face like I was the blazing sun, melting her away. Her hands opened and she slightly moved her fingers, lightly caressing my chest. I could see her eyes drifting to my mouth and the flicker that indicated the instant she decided she needed to kiss me again.

“Dinna touch me!” I croaked before she managed to accomplish it; backing away from her like she was a thunderstorm and I a jolted and frightened animal. “I dinna want to feel the ghost of my brother still on yer lips.”

“What are you talking about?” She asked in a small voice. I could see disappointment blooming in her eyes.

“Yesterday I saw you - together.” I swallowed hard, my throat burning with a faint taste of bile. “I watched as he kissed you. And ye let him!” I accused.

“I…” She grimaced and licked her lips, like she was remembering it. “I did. I needed to know.”

“Ye needed to compare the two of us, is that it?” I accused, my temples throbbing with anger. “Like some lost woman, whoring herself away to the best offer?”

“You’re a bloody fool, James Fraser!” She raised her hands in a desperate gesture. “I don’t know why I even… _care_.” She gulped. “I needed to know how I would feel if he did.”

“Are ye in love with him?” I asked bluntly. “Because if ye do, then… just come straight out with it and put me out of my misery. I canna take this any longer.”

She was breathing fast, her chest heaving. A few curls had escaped from her pins and were now glued to her sweaty temples and neck.

“I love William.” She closed her eyes when she said it, like she couldn’t bring herself to see what her words would do to me. “No one has ever loved me so gently and simply, I don’t think. I’m a better person around him – it’s very calm and sweet. And yet…” She opened her eyes and shot a glance straight through me. “I can’t seem to forget you. With you everything is stormy and adventurous. I feel like I’m upside down when I’m around you. I couldn’t breathe properly until you kissed me.”

“What does that mean, then?” I whispered.

“You disarm me, Jamie.” She breathed. “I shouldn’t want anything to do with you and yet – I do.”

She shook her head and turned to leave but I managed to catch her arm. I pulled her against me and kissed her, hard enough to bruise her lips - yet softly enough to make her body melt with mine.

This time I had no control; my hands roamed through her body, as I had craved so many nights lying in bed. I brushed the side of her breast with the tip of my fingers, encouraged by her soft humming, and felt her arse between my hands as I pressed her against me.

She bit my lip, her hands burying themselves on my hair as she pulled enough to make me moan. Always kissing, I walked us against the railway in the back, until I was able to lift her and sat her on the wooden surface. When I stopped my assault on her mouth, she grunted in lament.

I stared into her eyes as my hands travelled along her beautiful legs, until I found the hem and pushed her dress up, just above her bended knees. My callused palms slid up her thighs, feeling the unbearable warmth of her skin, so close to her core. I was painfully aroused and knew she could feel it throbbing against her, even through my kilt’s fabric.

“I know what ye want.” I breathed against her mouth, my fingers taunting her smooth skin. _So close._ “What ye need. But I won’t take ye because ye think ye’re not mine.”

“Jamie.” She whispered. “Please, I…”

“Aye.” I grunted. “That’s it. I wish ye to moan my name with wanting, to cry it out when I take ye; to yield yourself into my keeping, knowing that I am the only one for ye.” I kissed the curve of her neck, my tongue darting out to softly trace her earlobe. My moist lips enfolded her skin as I tasted the mixture of sweat, herbs and _eau-de-Claire_. I could feel her nails pressing on my back; her body searching a way to come together with mine. “Mine will be the only name ye sob; the word ye whisper when coming out of sleep; the only thing on yer mind when I’m inside ye.”

“Yes.” She moaned, drops of sweat streaming down her neck into her breasts. I bent my head and licked the path formed on her skin. “Ohh.”

“So ye see…” I placed one final kiss on her burning lips, knowing that I needed to extricate myself from her embrace, before I was totally lost and beyond any redemption. “I meant to teach ye something, Claire.”

“What?” She breathed, clawing me. I pinched the soft skin inside of her thighs one last time, before stepping away from her. Claire was panting, her skirt rolled up on her thighs, her mouth swollen and red, her neck red from the contact with my teeth and stubble. I had never wanted anything quite as badly as I craved to thrust myself inside her, deep enough to make her surrender to me.

“You’re mine.” I snarled, picking up my shirt and covering my nakedness. “And I won’t let go. And when ye find ye do belong to me, _then_ – and only then - I’ll make ye scream my name.”


	8. No Time For Us

**Part Eight – _No Time For Us_**

 “Willie asked me to marry him.” Claire said after a while. I was still panting heavily from anger, passion and our shared kiss. She had covered her legs and was standing against the railway, her body visibly trembling. I yearned to secure her between my arms, to soothe her and tell her tenderly what I had tried to show her with harsh words and the force of my body moments ago – but couldn’t. I had made my intentions clear; it was her turn to make her move, in the big chess game our lives had turned into. “He wants to give me your mother’s ring.”

“I knew he would.” I answered, brushing hay from my shirt. “He wanted ye from the moment he first saw ye – as did I.”

“Jamie,” She swallowed hard – I could hear her voice threatening to choke her, words too heavy to be easily said. “If we choose to be together, you’ll lose your brother. Your family. Your _home_. I could never agree to that, knowing…” She gulped. “I _know_ what you’d be giving up. Your rightful place in the world. I can’t make peace with that notion.”

“Claire.” I interrupted, raising my hands. “Since the day I arrived from France, there hasna been a single day that I haven’t cursed myself with those thoughts. But the undeniable truth is – I made that choice long ago. My choice is _you_. I will forsake my home, my place at my brother’s side, my eternal soul - if that is what it takes. If ye want me, I shall have ye – and bear the retribution to come with a lightened heart.”

“Are you really willing to give up your brother’s love?” She tilted her chin and our eyes met fully. “I know how it is to be loved by him. I understand the grace – and the hardship of having it stricken away from you.”

“Aye.” I nodded. “It pains me…” I breathed deeply, truly feeling the ache of it burdening my chest. “It pains me _sae much_ , Claire. I ken people will think me a traitor the likes of Cain – I had been thinking it myself. To commit such betrayal…” I inhaled, shaking my head. “But there is a point in which we must decide how to carry on – and be truthful, at least to ourselves.”

“If you really mean it…” Claire slid slowly to the ground, where she sat on the hay. All the colour on her cheeks, heightened by our argument and then by my kisses, had suddenly escaped her face. She looked pale and crushed – but decided. “I must tell you the truth. So you can decide if you still want me then.”

I glared at her, confused. But inside my brain I could hear the voice of my brother that nefarious evening in his room – _“Ye dinna ken the first thing about her”._ He had said and then – _“Would ye risk her happiness when ye dinna ken what ye’re claiming?”_

I moved carefully, like a hunter trying not to fright away rare and precious game, and kneeled by her side. I could feel the heat of her, inebriating – to sit beside her and not to hold her took all the self-control I possessed.

We were silent for a time, the cicadas still madly chanting in the heat outside – we could be standing in the heart of a fire, waiting to be burned into oblivion. I waited – patiently, I hope – for her next words and she fought to gather them, curling her fingers on her skirts. I vividly remembered the feel of her smooth skin on the tip of my own fingers, foreign to me and yet the sacred ground I had hoped for all my life.

“Are you familiar with the song about the woman of Balnain?” She said at last, her voice a murmur above the sounds outside.

“Aye.” I nodded. I had witnessed the telling of that ballad not long ago, in the Great Hall of _Leoch_. _“I am the woman of Balnain. The folk have stolen me over again...”_ I began.

_“I placed my hands upon the tallest stone and travelled to a far, distant land_.” She whispered, her hand brushing mine. _“Where I lived a time among strangers, who became lovers and friends.”_ Her fingers slowly touched my chin, delicately forcing my head to turn and to look her in the eyes. “And so I did.” A tear escaped her whiskey-coloured eyes. “I am the woman of Balnain.”

****

I curled in bed, fear and devastation roaring through my body like a wind-swept mountain. Claire’s words were seared into my mind – I heard them, saw them, breathed them and pumped them with my heart. I wanted nothing more than to escape the terrible truth she had shared with me – to go back and silence her with my mouth before she managed to tell me everything.

_“Do you believe me?” She asked in the end in a weak voice, her body drained after her tale._

_“Aye.” I avoided her eyes. “I do.”_

_“What are you thinking? Please…Tell me.” Claire pleaded._

_I noticed the shadows that were starting to grow on the ground – the sun was low in the sky, preparing for the night to come. I felt like I had already plunged into darkness – the only light was her, beside me – and I couldn’t seem to find a way to look at her._

_“I used to think that there wasn’t a place for us.” I answered in a hoarse voice. “But now – there’s no time for us either, is it?”_

_“Don’t say that!” She grabbed my hand and placed it against her cheek. “I’m real. As real as I’ve ever been. I’m here!”_

_“But will you stay?” I demanded weakly. “I ken what you told me.“ I assured her before she protested. “That you feel like you belong here. But ye have all those memories that I will never be able to share with ye, Claire. A place in the world this time could never offer ye. A man to whom ye made promises, lass.”_

_“A man who betrayed me!” She got up, restless and paced around. “I gave him my heart and he stomped on it. Any promises I might have given him were made void the moment he decided to fuck that nurse!” More curls escaped her bun, as she moved agitated._

_“I wilna pretend to know what that means.” I said in a restrained tone. “Ye might think ye want to stay now. But what if ye change your mind in a year? Or two? Or twenty? What if ye realize that ye made a terrible mistake while you’re carrying our bairn?” I tousled the waves and cowlicks of my hair. “I don’t know if I can live like that.” I swallowed hard. “Not knowing when you’ll decide to leave me and go back through the stones.”_

_“If I wanted to leave you, James Fraser.” She replied with fierceness. “The inability to travel through time wouldn’t stop me, even if things were different. I would leave anyway.”_

_“And William has known this since the beginning?” I demanded, hurt filling my eyes._

_“Yes.” She closed her eyes. “He found me shortly after I came through. I was famished, dehydrated, battered and as close to madness as I ever want to be. He believed me!” Claire gave me an incredulous look, as if she couldn’t quite believe it herself. “His faith, his trust, meant more to me – to become whole again – than bread, water or shelter.”_

_“I…I canna…” I rubbed my knuckles against my closed eyes, watching stars appear in the darkness. When I opened them, Claire was directly in front of me._

_“You told me I needed to know – that I belong to you.” She whispered. I could see the sparks of gold in her eyes, like coins of a treasure waiting to be found, his possessor rich beyond his imagination. “And I do.”_

_She touched my lips with hers, softly. A question, an answer, a promise._

I turned to the other side, watching the night recede to give room to dawn.

I had wanted her – and had demanded it in a way, knowing her will complicit with mine. She had finally given to me her heart, but it had come with a cost. _Take me_ , it said. _Take the wonders in me, marvel in their revelations – but cherish my darkest secrets with them. Have everything of me, the purity and the sinfulness alike – or nothing at all._

I still yearned for her. I still loved her. But some image inside me had been tainted with fear, an irrational fear that left me petrified and helpless - the very thing that built my dreams, slipping away from me.

_From the future_. A future I would never know if not through her eyes – never see if not through her dreams. But I could have her present to myself – if only I was brave enough.

****

October came with a rush of leaves and a sudden gush of hail and cold – one day we were outside, sipping the warmth like a rare and fine tea; and the next the winds forced us inside, to prepare to the harshness of life in the Highlands during the winter time.

Ian was leaving for France. I had tried to persuade him to stay, knowing that his heart wasn’t at peace – and that he wouldn’t find it by putting distance between himself and my sister. But he needed to go and find that piece of wisdom by himself – so I blessed him and hugged him tightly, knowing he carried with him a good part of my conscience.

We were gathered outside with some tenants and lads from the village, valiantly ignoring the cold as we sipped ale and toasted to his good fortune. William and I had reached a silent agreement – that mainly consisted of blatantly pretending the other wasn’t present in the same space.

“What do ye think people in Paris do to pass the time?” Ian asked, contemplating his cup like the answer could be found at the end of his drink.

“Well,” I smiled. “They spend a lot of time in brothels and drinking wine.”

“I shall miss a good game of shinty.” Ian sighed. “Perhaps we can play some now and ease the pain of it, aye?”

We quickly formed teams – it hadn’t escaped my attention that my brother had made a conscious, yet discrete, effort to be on the opposing team.

Shinty is never a dull game – and not one for the weak. It’s made of brutal hits and cries of war, lost teeth, fractured bones, smiles covered with mud. But after a few moments it was fairly obvious my brother was out to get me.

After he inflicted a nasty blow in my bollocks with his stick for the second tim, not even bothering to try to get to the _actual_ ball, I rushed in fury and threw myself at him.

We rolled in the mud like two wild animals - punching, kicking and scratching each other; ignoring Ian’s kind attempts of splitting us. We only stopped - with simultaneous gasps and a torrent of curses – when a rush of cold water splashed over us.

I struggled to regain focus and watched as my father gave us a threatening look, his hands holding a bucket – Claire hovering behind him, her face clouded in disappointment and sadness.

****

We were sitting at the kitchen’s table, both of us placed near the fire, water dripping from our wet clothes and forming intermittent clouds of mist around us. William and I had been trying to explain what had happened, trampling each other and trading angry glares and sneaky pokes on the ribs. Claire sat at my father’s side, composed and collected like a queen from another age.

“Enough!” My father roared, silencing us. We froze, like stone-made statues in the halls of Medusa. “I ken what brought this on and ken it fine. This madness needs to end!”

“Da…” I tried to explain, but he gave me a hard look, warning me that my time to speak hadn’t yet arrived.

“Ye all have said plenty in the past weeks, I reckon.” He hissed. “And I tried verra hard to stand aside, thinking ye grown enough to mend what was broken; to figure how to conduct yerselves as men. But enough is enough.”

“This has nothing to…” William started, but received an equally cold look to disarming effect.

“I canna have my home shattered!” Da screamed, hammering his fist on the table. “My sons fighting like sworn enemies under my own eyes, my hearth turned into a battlefield - and do nothing!” Brian _Dubh_ turned to Claire and his black eyes were intense, but sad. “I care for ye, Claire. I’d love nothing more than to have ye as daughter of my house. Ye’re a fine healer and a good lass; my tenants owe ye much.” He brushed his temple, where his black hair was slowly turning to the grey of precious silver.

“I understand.” She said softly, her fingers tightening in a fist until her knuckles turned white.

“But there’s no other way to solve this.” My father said in a hollow voice. “Ye need to leave this house.”

 

 


	9. The Ballad of a Thief

**_Part Nine – The Ballad of a Thief_ **

**_Claire_ **

I remember the day I first learned about catalysts.

I was sitting in class and Mister Bishop, my teacher for a period in which Uncle Lamb had settled in London, was telling us about it - how some substances have the ability to make chemical reactions occur faster, with less need of energy. How a catalyst creates an alternative pathway to a reaction, that without it might take millions of years to happen. And even more fascinating, how those powerful materials aren’t consumed in the catalysed reaction and, therefore, can continue to act repeatedly – maybe even forever.

The word came from the Greek, he said. It means _“to untie”._ I was immediately in awe of the concept of a catalyst for the simplest of reasons, not entirely of a chemical nature – it _changes things_. It changes even what seemed unchangeable. _Immutable_. It defies the impossible.

But years after that I felt betrayed, because not once during his laborious explanations Mister Bishop told me about _human_ catalysts. People that untie us, until we feel like we’re floating somewhere between ourselves and what we could be. People that come into our lives to precipitate things, to change us – either we are in agreement to that painful process or not.

I came cross that notion when I met my personal catalyst. _Jamie Fraser_.

The first time I saw him I thought him beautiful. When our worlds collided in Lallybroch’s kitchen, he pushed me slightly out of balance – like a planet threw out of course by the undeniable gravity of a bigger celestial body.

But I thought it inconsequential. I was pleased with my life, with what I had found at the end of my mesmerizing journey.

My path had started in my own time. I was serving as a combat nurse during the World War – happy to finally have a short licence to encounter my husband, Frank, placed in the much darker world of military intelligence. I knew he had been called to Scotland from his last letter, probably in search of some fundamental piece of information; and had acquired his address in Inverness from one of his co-workers in the London office. I wished to surprise him, to find myself able to rest for a bit in his loving arms – except those arms had been fairly occupied with another woman, when I arrived at this apartment late one night.

I took the car and drove like a madwoman, not knowing where I could go. He was the only place I called home. I felt shattered, betrayed, lost. I came to _Craigh na Dun_ to weep for the loss of my marriage – and the flood of my tears washed me away to somewhere far _far_ way from all my troubles.

It was under the Northern Lights that I realized Jamie could change everything – he had already started. Near him I was alight, incandescent without any need for additional combustion. His touch set a new rhythm in my heart. His eyes healed the unseen scars inside my soul. His smile made me _Lux Aeterna_.

How does one forgo such knowledge? How does one deny such a gift? Once I knew the power he had over me – how I could be consumed and yet everlasting with him – I couldn’t forget him.

But I had the love of two good men – and to give myself to one of them would irrevocably destroy their bond. I struggled, fought even harder knowing I didn’t have a real choice. I felt shallow and merciless, a wicked woman, incapable of letting go for the greater good. And so I made myself acrobat and juggled with their hearts in my hands, desperately trying not to let any of them crash on the ground.

They both did. _Mine did._

I loved William – a gentle and tender love. The love you give to your best friend, who knows the deepest flaws in you, the jagged edges, and still manages to wrap his arms around you. But Jamie turned me from stilled water to wave; from flame to wildfire; from bud to fully blossomed.

When Brian Fraser told me I had to leave his house, I knew he was right. I ought to go away and leave them with the hope of repairing what had been broken – even if I knew I could never be fixed again. I loved Jamie Fraser, my catalyst. _I loved him_.

Jamie tried to talk to me that night and I told him we had time in the morning – knowing all along I would never see him again. But I had a moment of weakness when my hand searched his and our fingers met, cold meeting fiery blaze. I needed that contact to keep me going, to strengthen my resolve.

I entered my room and searched for a scrap of paper and ink. I wrote furiously, pouring my heart into the paper as I would to his fathomless blue eyes, swallowing back the tears that threatened to blotch my letter. I gathered the things that were truly mine – few but precious to me – and placed them in a saddlebag.

The hall outside was cold and deserted, a perfect echo of my state of mind. I stepped gently, careful not to make the floorboards creak under my weight.

I stopped in front of Jamie’s door. The paper fitted perfectly in the small space between the door and the frame. My hand touched the wooden surface, as if I could teleport myself into his arms, painfully empty just inches away. I allowed myself to think what could have been – his body flush with mine, aware of all of my secrets; us walking hand in hand in the coming of spring; his arms around me while I held a faceless child, our perfect chemical reaction.

When I had finally gathered myself – the shadow of tears moistening my face – I moved to stand outside William’s room. I breathed deeply and raised my hand to knock on his door.

That night I rode away from Lallybroch, a thief in the night – stealing away a horse, but leaving all that truly mattered behind.

My hope. My catalyst. My love.


	10. The Flapping of a Butterfly's Wings

**_Part Ten - The Flapping of a Butterfly’s Wings_ **

In the morning I woke to find my entire world shattered.

At dawn I rose from bed, washed my face on the basin with cold water and swiftly wrapped my kilt around my waist – I wished to talk to Claire before the whole house was awake, away from prying ears. When I opened the door, the folded piece of paper drifted to the floor as a death notice left by an unseen angel. I stood there, gazing at it, dread nestling inside my chest like a tendril – I knew all too well what it meant, even before reading the actual words.

I collected the yellow paper with a trembling hand and struggled to find meaning in the elegant calligraphy, even through the forming curtain of tears that drenched my eyelashes.

_“My dearest Jamie,_

_“But one day_

_I saw the moon came out and the wind rose once more_

_So I touched the stones and travelled back to my own land.”_

_So it ends the ballad of the Woman of Balnain – and so it ends mine. I must leave - I must leave you. Not because I don’t love you – but because I love you too much to ask the ultimate sacrifice of you, even knowing you willing to make it. As Solomon so wisely decided, sometimes to love means to let go – sometimes love means to surrender, to lose, to avoid further damage to the loved one. I know the strength of the bond you share with your brother – and hope you can find it in your heart to mend it after I’m gone._

_I can’t stay here, where we could meet again so easily, all of our feelings brought back to us in an instant. I can’t risk your happiness – so I’ll go to a place you can’t follow me._

_I love you, Jamie. I shall spend the rest of my life – whether it lasts ten or a hundred years more – praying for an afterlife where we can meet and finally be together._

_You have untied me. Thank you._

_All my love,_

_Claire.”_

The paper flowed from my hand, as I rushed to her room. I slammed the door open, secretly dreaming of finding her there, incapable of actually leaving me. The room was empty and cold, the fire extinguished in the fireplace, every trace of her presence erased. _She was gone._

I fell on my knees and from my mouth escaped a sound that was a sob and a growl, the cry of a wounded animal, left to die in the middle of a snowed moor.

 “She is gone.” William’s voice said from the entrance. As I turned my head I saw him standing by the door, looking like a dead man walking. “She left last night.”

“And you let her?” I asked, anger overpowering every other emotion, as I raised to my feet.

“Claire came to tell me.” His eyes were troubled and dark circles surrounded them – he clearly had spent the entire night contemplating the prospect of her departure. “She asked me not to stop her…not to tell you until dawn.”

“You let her go!” I accused. “How could you let her go alone, William? God kens what perils she might face!”

“That is what she wanted.” He said between teeth.

“Since when do ye show so much respect for what she wants?” I snarled at him, closing my hand on a fist.

“She came to tell me that she couldna take Ma’s ring. She couldna marry me.” He gulped and his blue eyes avoided mine, as he proceeded in a broken voice. “Because she loves ye. And she dinna wish to see ye destroyed for that love.”

His recognition silenced me, as I looked at him and saw the devastation hiding inside his eyes. I realized how much it pained him to admit that the woman he loved had chosen another man. That he had lost her, not only for the mesh of time – but for his own brother. With a single stroke he had lost the two people he loved the most – had been left alone with no solace.

I needed to go after Claire but I couldn’t leave him. Not when he looked like a reflection of myself, had our choices been slightly different. I couldn’t go and chase my desires at the expense of his own.

As I debated with myself, frustration and loss building up inside me, he came inside the room and sat on the bed.

“Ye should go.” Willie said softly, his voice barely audible. “If ye take the high pass maybe ye’ll get to her before she goes through the Stones.”

I looked at him, amazed.

“William…”

“She has made her choice, Jamie.” He went on, his fingers entwining. “There’s no use in us being both unhappy – not when ye still have a chance.”

“I can’t…” I started, but he gave me an amused look. For the first time in many weeks he looked like my older brother – caring, loving and _wiser_.

“Aye. Ye can.” He nodded. “I had the entire night to think about this, brother. Dinna be mistaken…” My brother offered me a wry look. “It still is the hardest thing I ever told anyone, Jamie. I still hate yer guts. But ye should go.”

“And what then?” I asked.

“I only ask ye that ye go away with her.” He whispered, his lips pale. “I canna have ye two living here, having to watch ye together under my nose. Not for some time, anyway.”

“I thank ye, brother.” I said in a hoarse voice, wishing to hug him. But we had passed that point long ago – too much damage had been done, so much had been lost between us. But he was offering me an olive branch – almost an entire _tree_ , to be honest – and I would gladly take it.

As I turned my back to leave him behind, I still heard him whisper.

“She asked me to take care of you. This is the best way I ken to do just that.”

****

If it wasn’t for her poor choice of horse, I surely would have lost her. But she had picked a frail creature to mount, with an abhorrent tendency to develop a limp after a few miles – so her journey was delayed enough for me to catch her at dusk, the stone circle already in sight.

She had stopped on the side of the road and her eyes were red and puffy – I assumed she had been crying, preparing herself for the perspective of travelling back to her time. When she saw me riding to meet her, I thought she had the sudden impulse to flee in the opposite direction.

“Are ye mad, woman?” I hissed, pretending to be angry, jumping from my mount. “When ye run away at least choose a proper horse! If I was a broken man ready to attack ye – or worse, a redcoat! – ye wouldna stand a chance riding that nag!”

“Really?” She said, her amber eyes wide open. “That is the first thing you’ll say to me? Chastise me for my poor knowledge on barnyard?”

“Aye.” I grabbed both her arms and pulled her against me. “Either that or scream at ye for running away until yer ears ring.”

“You bloody Scot.” Claire replied irritated, but the corners of her mouth trembled with the temptation of smiling. “You really can’t do as you’re told, can you?”

“Ye can reprimand my brother for this one.” I smiled, sadness finding its way through the overjoyed state I was in. “He sent me after you.”

“Oh.” She gave me a surprised look. “Are you sure that’s what he meant?”

“Ach.” I snorted. “Loving ye hasna made me deaf or _entirely_ daft yet. William told me to get you…” I swallowed hard. “To be _with you_. Away from Lallybroch.”

“But Lallybroch is your home, Jamie.” She crossed her arms, raising her chin in a stubborn move that made me want to kiss the small hollow on it. “I can’t take you away from it.”

“I ken yer reasons, Claire.” I caressed her lips with my finger, silencing her. “And Lallybroch was my home, aye - but it was never mine to begin with. Lallybroch belongs to William – as I belong to you. I shall build my home with our love as its hearth.”

“Jamie…” Her eyes were moist, her lips full under my finger. “Will you kiss me? Or do you have more remarks to make about my horse first?”

“Oh, I have plenty to say about it, _mo nighean donn._ ” My fingers were already aching with the need to touch her, to have her body against mine in tenderness. “But it can wait – I have a mind to kiss ye just now.”

Our lips met in blazing glory – I was listening to a symphony playing somewhere, written by the cadence of our breathing, of our hearts. Our tongues found each other and danced together, as our hands searched for sensible ground. I smiled against her mouth as I heard her growling, greedily, her nails digging on my shoulders, struggling to get me closer to her.

We were standing near the road, but slowly we waltzed together until our figures were hidden by the threes, the chilled air prickling our heated skin.

When Claire bit my neck with just enough force to make me moan in want, I scooped her from the ground and soon enough was lying on my back in a bed of brown leafs, her body pressed on top of mine. My hands discarded her shawl, eager to expose more skin.

She raised herself and looked me in the eyes, my arousal clearly visible between us, barely hidden with the folds of my kilt.

 “Do you want me to stop?” She asked.

“I’ll die if ye do.” I said in a husky voice. “But aye. I want ye to claim me.” I traced her brow and my fingers slid across the sacred trail of her cheek and neck, leaving a pathway of goosebumps on her skin. “To feel yer body roused by mine and ken I have owned the right to see ye so. To touch ye and know I have my whole life to do it again and again. That I can come to ye, fierce and wanting, and ye’ll be ready only with the memory of my fingers and mouth.” I cupped her breast through the fabric of her bodice with a light hand. I didn’t wish to tease her any further – only that my hand seemed made to fit there. “But after all that happened, I want do it right. I want to do right _by you_.” I kissed her moist lips, drinking the promise of her whimpers and sobs. “I wish our union to be made sacred to all men, as it has been in my heart since the day I met ye. No man or deity shall claim against our embrace.”

“So, we wait.” Claire closed her eyes, slightly panting. “Waiting is nice too. Makes the heart grow fonder.”

I snorted.

“Waiting with you on top of me, yer hair all curly and unruly, yer breasts teasing me like two ripe fruits of sin...” I sucked at her bottom lip. “ _Many things_ are bound to _grow_ here, _mo nighean donn_.”

She laughed and rolled away, laying on her back next to me.

“Was that a marriage proposal? Because I’ve definitely heard propositions involving more romance. Yours seems to be based on the prospect of being able to bed me afterwards.”

“But ye’ve never heard truer ones.” I smiled at her with mischief. “I love ye, Claire. And I want to bed ye alright – but I want to love ye more.”

“And where will we live?” She asked, after kissing me thoroughly.

“We can ask my godfather’s help; he can aid with getting us settled somewhere. Or perhaps go to my kinsmen at Leoch – they _do_ need a healer and I’m certain I’ll be welcomed at their stables.”

“You have this all planned, don’t you?” She teased me, amused.

“My only plan, lass…” I brushed her lips, hungry for more of her kisses. “Is to love ye the rest of my life.”

****

That night, as I slept with Claire in my arms amongst the heather, I dreamt of William.

I was standing outside his bedroom and could see his figure lying in bed. His room was filled with shadows, the shutters closed, leaving him half covered in darkness. I looked to the floor and saw our playing swords, the wooden wee things we used to dangle around, pretending we were legendary warriors, the opposing army consisting solely of each other. His boots, aligned and peeking beneath the bed, were small and worn out from running and climbing, caked with dry mud.

I knew that image. It was the first time I had seen him after he had been taken ill with the pox – the first time I had seen him in weeks. Those had been some of the hardest days of my life – even though I had been a young bairn, the absence of my brother and the danger that had surrounded him didn’t escape my attention. I remember frequently awaking in the middle of the night crying and calling for him, too afraid he would leave me behind.

I stepped inside the room and watched his face, the fair skin of his cheek covered with marks from the freshly fallen scabs. His wrists were thin and fragile, like chicken bones, all of his healthy complexion robbed by the raging fever that had afflicted him for so many days.

I had wanted to crawl in bed next to him and weep with relief, wondrously watching his chest rise and fall with the rhythm of his breathing.

He must have heard me walking - or perhaps snuffling with uncontained tears - for he turned his head and his lips formed a welcoming smile that healed my own soul-sickness. He opened his eyes and called “ _Sawny”_ – and I could feel the breath of his whisper against the skin of my ear, real against my forgotten body, as I walked inside my dreams.

I came out of sleep like I had been plunged in cold water. I could still feel him, as if he had just left my side, my arms still locked around Claire’s sleeping body. I moved restless and frightened, adjusting my plaid to cover Claire, as I got up to stir the fire we had built the previous night.

Dawn was breaking and with it came a rider at distance.

I recognized Jenny even before I could distinguish her features – my sister was a bonny tracker, having been taught by myself, Ian and William.

Claire was suddenly by my side as I raised my arm to salute her, puzzled with her presence. Once Jenny dismounted her horse, her face told me that she served as messenger for daunting news.

“The redcoats came into the house, looking for food and fresh horses. Da wasna there, he went to the village for some grain.” She panted, holding her stomach as if she was about to be sick. “An officer, a wicked man named Captain Jack Randall, threatened to…” Jenny looked at them, helpless. “He made advances on my person. Willie came from the field then and fought the soldiers that were holding me. He…” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“What happened, Jenny?” I demanded, grabbing her arm, fear curling inside me like a black wave. I could still hear the echo of William calling me inside my head. _“Sawny”._ “Where is Willie?”

“The redcoats have him.” She blurted, her lips pale. “They arrested him. He has been taken to Fort William.”

 


	11. The Red Prisoner

**Part Eleven – _The Red Prisoner_**

**_William_ **

What is darkness?

Is it the thing that remains when all light is taken away? Or is it something else – not only the absence of something, but the presence of a dreadful opposite? And why do we fear it so quintessentially? Is it just the uncertainty of things lurking on its embrace; or the fact that we can’t define it, palpate it, grasp the thing that sends a shiver down our spine? And yet, in our minds, it has a form – it has the face of our enemies and the sound of our nightmares. They all live there, waiting for us, ready to take us – kept at bay by the dim shield of a candle’s flame.

And then again - can a man be darkness himself?          

I turned to the other side on the narrow cot, feeling the cold stones directly underneath the thin rags that served as mattress. Sleep – traitorous friend! – had deserted me yet again. I closed my eyes and tried to occupy my thoughts with an inventory of Lallybroch’s livestock; but the face of an entirely different beast pounced to get me, feeling me vulnerable and unprepared.

There was something _wrong_ about him. I had known it since the moment our eyes met in his office, while he read my charges – maybe even longer, as he tried to defile my sister in our own dooryard. _Obstruction_ , his lips uttered. And yet his eyes were enthralled in contemplation – they lingered just a bit too long, just a little too inquisitive. I dinna ken what he was thinking then – but wished to plunge myself in boiling water to rid myself of the sickening feeling, nonetheless.

He talked at length, sharing his undoubtedly strong opinions about Scotland and Highlanders, seizing the chance to expand on his rhetorical urges. But sometimes he bit his bottom lip; the tip of his tongue flickered; his fingers caressed the back of his hand. Captain Randall was a foreign creature to me - but it was my conviction that he was dangerous, blood-thirsty, a predator circling his victim until he figured the weakness, the best way to subjugate with minimal resistance.

“Mister Fraser.” He said. “Do you understand the severity of your charges?”

“Aye.” I answered, looking him straight on in defiance. I was still cradling the ache from the blows the redcoats had given me, sitting on the chair in front of his dark mahogany desk. “I do.”

“You could be facing incarceration for some years.” He raised his eyebrows. “You are young. Surely that is a daunting perspective?”

“Only if it means I have to sit here and listen to ye talk through it.” I offered him a crooked smile. “I’m sure ye enjoy having a _captive_ audience, but I’ve had more interesting conversations with a deaf-mute man. Can I go now?”

It came, as I knew it would. The blow of the fist that leaves you senseless for a blessed moment; the lightening trapped inside your head, which disrupts all darkness. Afterwards came the throbbing, my cheek gaining a life of its own, like a second heart growing beneath the skin there. I was left with the satisfaction of knowing I had cut him with my imaginary sword; I had come close enough to maybe make him bleed a bit.

“Oh, Mister Fraser, I would procced with extreme caution if I found myself in your precarious situation.” Randall advised me in a soft voice, coming around the desk and grabbing me by the hair to return me to a seated position. I gasped. “You may not care what happens to you, but perhaps you care for your estate and the people living in it? Do you wish me to go and maybe get you some familiar company?”

“Leave my family out of this!” I hissed, half spitting in fury. “I dinna ken what sordid and wicked things ye are about man, but be done with it and leave me be!”

He pushed me then, making the chair I was seated on fall to the ground, leaving me on my back as he placed a booted foot on my chest. Randall gazed at me, studying me with his dark and intent eyes.

“You are an exquisite man.” He finally said, tilting his head slightly to the side, as if he could decipher me better from another angle. “There is something about you that compels me. But I prefer my canvas to be entirely blank.” The captain crouched and his hand touched my cheek, covering the marks of the pox with his palm. I growled and tried to crawl away from his touch, but his other hand came to grip me by the neck, keeping me in place. “You are _tainted_. Those marks have robbed you of what you could have been.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “The lash wouldn’t change that. An opportunity forever lost.”

“You sick bastard!” I hissed in a strangled voice, my hand coming up to try to hit him or scratch him, just enough so he would release some of the pressure he was applying on my throat. I was starting to see little stars swirling in the periphery of my vision and my world was becoming a dark tunnel, in which he was the unwanted centre. “I will kill you!”

“Highly unlikely.” Randall grazed my bottom lip with his sharp fingernail, just enough to make me feel small droplets of blood oozing from the thin line where the skin was cut. “Since I can’t bring myself to make you a masterpiece and you seem to be too much of a wildcat to put to any other service – as much I would enjoy that attempt – perhaps you can serve me in another way.”

“I will never serve ye.” I coughed and retched, as he released me. Captain Randall paced around me and sat on his desk, giving me a look one could spare to a slug caught on the vegetable patch.

“I need an example to tame those barbarians you call kinsmen.” He declared haltingly. “So as I questioned you to make sure you were not involved in any rebellious activities, you assaulted me and tried to kill me. Pounded my face against the desk and tried to strangle me.”

I laughed, bracing myself to get up and stand.

“I dinna touched ye, man. No one will believe ye.”

“Oh.” He smiled and my insides felt frozen, as if water from a river had started pouring through me during winter. “ _Everyone_ will.”

And he banged his head against the desk, the sickening sound of his nose breaking making vomit come up my gullet in a wave. He smashed his own face against the wooden surface again and again, as I stood as helpless witness – and victim - of his utter madness.

Afterwards I had been taken to my cell and beaten again. He was right of course – I was now accused of attempted murder of a Crown’s officer. I had gone from contemplating a couple of years imprisoned to likely be standing in the scaffold, the noose already swaying in front of my closed eyes.

I turned again, hearing the voice of my father, as if he was whispering against my ear.

_“And God said, Let there be light: and there was light._

_And God saw the light, and it was good; and God divided the light from darkness.”_

She had come.

The door had opened after days – weeks? – without any human contact, save from the soldier that served as warden.

“Your bride has come to see you, Fraser.”

Claire had entered the cell, looking beautiful and ethereal against the foulness and shadows that filled my surroundings. The guard stood next to her, admiring her from the corner of his eye.

“Claire.” I blurted with a raspy voice, incoming tears almost choking me. “You came.”

“Oh Willie!” She caught my hands, squeezing them between her own, sending the young soldier a look full of gratitude and batting eyelashes before he could stop us from touching. “I was so worried!”

“ _A Dhia_!” I kissed the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry, _mo chridhe_! I never intended for this to happen.”

“I know.” She whispered, her amber eyes blazing while she searched my exposed body for serious injuries. “They allowed me to come and visit you briefly, me being your betrothed.” The shadow of a smile appeared on her bonny lips.

“Aye.” I knew she had come with a purpose – the ruse she was playing was certainly Jamie’s idea to send me a message and make sure I knew help was coming – but hearing her say those words made my heart flutter – and then break – nonetheless. “I’m alright. Do ye ken the charges I’m facing?”

“We do.” She nodded. “And Jamie wishes me to tell you _“Bheil mi teachd, a brathair.”_ Claire slowly articulated, mindful to pronounce the words properly.

“You’ve seen he is in good health, my lady, as I have assured you. You need to leave, now.” The soldier told her. She dispensed him a narrow look and touched my cheek, nodded once as our eyes met and was off before I could think of anything else to say.

I had carved Jamie a wooden snake once upon a time – I had made him my keeper, the ultimate guardian of the sacred place our brotherhood had been for me. And through all the heartache and angry words he had not forgotten it; he had sent me _Sorcha_ – our shared light – to warn me of his arrival.

So I sat there with darkness as my only company, contemplating the graces bestowed upon me, and waited for my brother to come.

_Bheil mi teachd_ \- _I come_.


	12. Redeemed

**Twelve – _Redeemed_**

 Dead bodies don’t talk – and yet, they scream.

There is something deeply disturbing about a corpse, which goes beyond the smell of rotten flesh and decaying things. Something that compels us to look away, to hide, fearing that we might get a glance of our own fate. To touch a dead person is to knock on a newly left home – still warm but jarring in its emptiness, vacant windows in the eyes of an elapsed soul.

It’s not the dead we fear, frightened beyond reason at the sight of a cadaver- but the line that separates _us_ from _them_ , getting thinner and more real with each spent heartbeat.

 I could barely breathe underneath the pile of dead men, laying over me like grotesque blankets. I struggled to inhale in shallow and quick gasps, afraid I would start to retch and vomit, revealing my presence on the back of the wagon. And – I must admit – dismayed with the thought of my soul deciding to make an escape to join theirs.

It had seemed a daring but suitable plan, born in Claire’s mind as we scouted the outside of Fort William, looking for a possible entrance. A disjointed wagon, conducted by a cross-eyed man with a cleft lip, had chosen that moment to swing on its wheels towards the prison. A dark cloud of flies accompanied the march, as small widows immersed in grief, dutifully crying on a wake. Soon enough wee had been able to see the bodies stored in the back, collected over the barracks down the road, to be accounted for and dispensed by the garrison.

_“Hm.” Claire had hummed, shielding her eyes from the downing sun to take a better glance at the sad procession, as we hid in the vegetation nearby._

_“What is it?” I asked, trying to locate the redcoats on the niches – a well-guarded place, crawling with young soldiers, eager to prove themselves to their King. “I ken that sound means ye’re up to something.”_

_“Well,” She pursed her lips in thoughtfulness. “How do you feel about an early funeral?”_

_I gave her a half-amused, half-puzzled look. “Not even marrit yet and ye already looking forward to be a widow, Sassenach?”_

_“You did say the only way to get in is through the gate.” Claire shrugged and pointed vaguely to the wagon, the driver now saluting the sentinel to ask for permission to enter. “Unless you have a secret army you have been planning to tell me all about, this seems like a way to get in without being killed outright.”_

_“Are ye seriously suggesting I disguise myself amongst the dead to enter?” I raised a brow, aghast. She gave me a look of unwavering conviction. “And how do ye suppose we were to get out, if I manage to rescue my brother?”_

_“Haven’t got that far on the plan, I’m afraid.” Claire conceded. “But time is running out. The next round of executions will take place in a couple of days – we must act now or Willie will be forever lost.”_

_“Aye.” I swallowed hard, watching the wagon disappear behind the gates, one bare foot – almost grey in colour - dangling from the back as an uncanny wave of goodbye. “We’ll manage.”_

_“We have to do something about your hair. Red Jamie.” Her eyes bore into mine, concerned and supportive, silently apologizing for the harsh words. “If someone sees you helping William, they’ll know who you are instantly. Before you can say “Humpty Dumpty!” Lallybroch will be crawling with English soldiers and you’ll be the next one arrested, waiting for the hangman to tie his ropes.” Her hand searched mine and gripped it. “I can’t have that.”_

_“I dinna know about Mister Humpty Dumpty, but I ken yer meaning.” I nodded, my free hand mindlessly brushing the red cowlicks of my hair. “Give me yer wee knife, mo nighean donn.”_

I recalled the feeling of misplaced tranquillity that descended over me that afternoon, while I sat next to the weeping stream, Claire’s hands upon me. Her fingers trembled a little – and yet her work was precise and decided, baring me of the red streaks that had defined so much of myself through my lifetime. My fallen hair sprawled at our feet, sometimes kissed and swept away by the breeze, a cloak I could no longer use for shelter because it was so strikingly associated with who I was.

_When she was done, Claire had placed her hands on my shoulders and leaned over to kiss the naked top of my head – her lips parted and quivering, like a prayer. I held her waist and placed my forehead against her heart, wordlessly asking for her blessing. A warrior preparing for battle, already walking on the outskirts of afterlife - if not for the hold she still had over me, enough to keep me with her. Claire would always keep me grounded. The heart out of my chest, which I had chosen without a second thought._

_I groped my bald skull and smirked, attempting to sound more cheerful than I truly was. “Red Jamie no more.”_

_“Always Red Jamie.” Claire caressed my lips and smiled, sheathing her sgian dubh in its scabbard. “Always my Jamie.”_

The wagon jostled along the path and I faintly heard the driver making his usual greeting to the soldier on duty, making a crude remark about his gruesome commodity. The sound of something heavy being open, more laughter, wheels complaining – and then we were across the short bridge and into the Fort’s courtyard. I sighed in relief and instantly regretted it, the moment my nostrils were filled with the smell of blood and loosened bowels.

When we stopped, I opened an eye to spy the ghastly driver heading out to an inner door, dutifully taking the documents he carried with the day’s account. Clenching my teeth, I rolled over like a conniving lizard and peeked through a crevice on the side of the transport. We had arrived during ration hours – no soul within sight. Regretfully smiling to my nearest companion – his eyes still open in shock, death coming much too soon to his expectations, his teeth the colour of old parchment – I slid from the embrace of the dead and into firm land of the living.

I knew where Willie was being kept – Claire had made me an accurate description, the same memory and confidence she applied to her treatments serving her well in that purpose. My heart jumped, hammering against my ribs every time I made a turn in a corridor, each time I dissolved against the shadows to avoid detection by passing patrols. I touched the hidden dirk against my thigh and prayed _“Not yet. Please, not before I find him”._

I came to his cell, deep in the guts of the Fort. The guard in the corridor was lulled by prolonged inactivity – he barely struggled when I trapped his neck with my arm, pressing enough for him to faint. I knew the risk of someone discovering the intrusion was getting greater by the minute – expeditiously grabbed the chain of keys from his belt and headed towards the cell’s door. 

He had been left in complete darkness. I opened the locked door, holding the small candle I had recovered from the guard’s table.

Willie was asleep, curled in a defensive posture, his back against the door. I walked slowly, afraid of scaring him enough for him to make a loud noise. As I approached, I noticed the bruises on his face, the sickening array of green and grey.

“Willie.” I whispered, touching him on the shoulder – the bones protruding, closer to the surface. He came awake like a man coming for air after prolonged immersion, gasping with his eyes wide open.

“Dinna touch me!” William croaked, his hands shielding his head. “Let me be! Please! _Please_!”

“ _Bi samhach!_ ” I hugged him gently trying to silence him, crouching next to him on the filthy floor. “It’s me. _Jamie_.” And then, noticing his unhinged gaze, I resumed to talk in _Gaidhlig_ , feeling that the soothing ancient words would distance him from the nightmares of his captivity. “ _Seas, a brathair_.”

“ _Sawny_?” He sobbed, his hands turned into claws, seeking to feel the contact of my flesh. “ _Seamu_ s, is that ye, _a bhalaich_?”

“Aye, ‘tis me – hairless, but me.” I held his face between my hands. “I told ye I’d come for ye.”

“I thought I’d never see ye again.” Willie confessed in a broken voice, hugging me with abandon. “Not in this life, at least.”

“Ye should have known I’m too pig-headed to allow such a thing.” I said in jest, helping him to sit up. “We have to go, Willie. There’s not much time.”

“I’m too weak.” He glared at me, his lips chapped. “Ye have to leave me here, Jamie. We won’t make it if you take me with ye.”

“I’m not leaving ye!” I retorted in an assertive tone. “Both of us will walk out of this prison or none of us will.”

“Ye have to.” He insisted, agitated, trying to force me to understand. “Randall – the English captain – he’s the darkest soul I ever encountered on this earth. He thrives on his wicked ways and his desires aren’t meant for this world. He’s the lowest of demons, a creature of destruction – he canna see ye, Jamie. If he’s made aware of yer existence, he’ll want ye.” He gulped, an intense tremor taking over his body. “Ye aren’t marked – not in a visible way, as I am. Ye are everything he wanted to be and isn’t and for that he’ll try to possess it – and when he discovers himself unable to, he’ll try to destroy it. Ye’ll destroy _you_.”

“I dinna fear him, Willie.” I assured him in a calm voice, even if every hair on my arms stood on end. “It’s leaving ye behind that would destroy me. _Blood of my blood_ , aye?”

“Ye _should_ fear him. The things he is capable of…” Willie said between clenched teeth, fighting pain as I forced him to stand. “ _Leave_ , Jamie. I’d only ask of ye that ye see Claire safe. That ye make her happy, for as long as she might want ye.”

“Claire loves ye too, _a brathair_.” I said with gentleness. “She would never speak to me again if I dinna take ye out of this place – probably would stab me herself. Neither of us would know a moment of happiness for the rest of our lives.”

“She sure is a fierce wee thing.” He offered me the ghost of a smile and walked by my side, dragging his left leg, his arm around my shoulders for support. He was indeed exhausted, spent from days of fear and hunger, his leg badly bruised – or even broken – from one of his last beatings. “Thinking of her – of ye both – has kept me sane between these walls. If I never see her again, please tell her that…”

“Ye can tell her yerself, brother.” I stopped him, giving him a lopsided smile. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it more coming from ye.”

Slowly we climbed up the stairs towards the tower. I was grunting with the effort of almost carrying William on my arms – and acutely aware that only a miracle could make us avoid detection, given the pace in which we were moving.

As we came around a corner, an officer almost bumped into us. What followed was a short fight, awkwardly restrained on the small space of the corridor, ending when I clubbed him on the head with my dirk’s handle.

We could hear loud screams coming from downstairs, urgent and angry like a wild beast awakening, urging us to run away. I pulled William with me, ignoring his incessant pleas to leave him behind – I was determined to save him, even if it meant I’d lose my life or freedom. This was my road of redemption – the journey to regain the right to call him my brother, after all the deception and grievances I had inflicted upon him.

Eventually we stood on the battlement above the courtyard, soldiers gathering and screaming, pointing at our figures with accusing fingers. The frenetic sound of trained soldiers running up the stairs in our direction crushed the insides of my head, until all I could hear was the echo of the end coming, marching towards us with an English accent.

“Do ye trust me?” I asked roughly, my hand gripping the back of William’s stained shirt. His blue eyes bore into mine – a spark of past resentment and heartbreak, but then the limpid acknowledgment of earned faith.

“ _A-chaoidh_.” He nodded. _Always_.

I turned to the other side, facing the cold dark waters bellow us – menacing in their unknown depth.  William’s breathing was laboured and superficial, as he realized what I was about to do.

I took his hand, crushing it inside my own, and we jumped together, diving into a sea yet to prove itself merciful. And as we blazed into the sky, our joined hands exploded in heartrending pain, one single bullet shot through them – making us again one flesh, one blood.


End file.
